The One Factor That Makes or Breaks Any Travel Experience
I could be at a beach in Thailand right now. So why aren’t I?
I consider myself one of the luckiest girls in the world.
For the past year and a half, I’ve traveled across four different continents while getting paid to pursue my creative passions. I’ve discovered at least 5 of my new favorite places on Earth, lived out stories better than any tale I could’ve come up with in my head, and found someone who loves me harder than anyone I’ve ever known. My friends constantly tell me that I’m living the dream, and — in all ways but one — they’re right.
Unfortunately, there’s one factor that makes my experience far from dreamlike — living inside my head.
Over the past year or so, I’ve learned that (as long as one’s basic needs are being met) mindset and mood are the real, true deal-breakers of any “good” experience. Sure, my mindset gets influence from the people who surround me, the beauty of the places I’m in, and the comfort provided by these places — but ultimately, my thoughts have a life of their own, and those thoughts influence the ways I perceive these experiences as much as they yield to them.
For instance, I’ve felt high on life in some of the most random and seemingly-mundane circumstances — and I’ve felt depressed in my favorite place on Earth.
I’ve felt happy-as-can-be while I was alone, and I’ve felt a pain deeper than I’d thought humanly possible — in the form of loneliness — around people that I considered true friends.
I’m not sure why, but I’ve always been a skilled fault-finder. (Apparently, I’m a strong type-4 on the enneagram.) Observing my own thoughts, I’ve noticed that I rarely have trouble finding flaws in any given situation — no matter how wonderful it is — because my mind is oh-so-talented at fabricating reasons that whatever I have is “not enough.”
For example, if you take me to a gorgeous beach house for the weekend, you’ll probably hear me say “Oh my gosh, I’m so excited to be here.” …but what you (hopefully) will never know is that I’ll be actively suppressing some imaginary factor that could make it better: the water could be clearer. The waves could be bigger. The weather could be warmer.
Sometimes, I’ll come across a moment so great, even my award-winning inner critic will be stumped. For a hot sec. Then, if she has nothing to complain about, she’ll resort to plan B: guilt.
I’d better enjoy this moment. I’d better be grateful. I’m so lucky to be here, and I’d better not, for a second, think otherwise. The closer to perfect any given experience is, the harsher the alarm bells, making sure I don’t forget that it won’t last forever. Thus, instead of enjoying a moment, my energy goes to worrying about enjoying it.
A little over a year ago, when I was traveling in Europe, I noted this in a conversation with my sister, who was texting me from back home. I was going through a personal conflict that was making me (justifiably) upset, and she asked me if this issue was “making my trip worse.”
I confirmed that it was. “Honestly though,” I reflected, “my brain will [constantly] go out of its way to find reasons to be depressed/disappointed no matter what.”
In this moment of clarity, I didn’t even bother wishing for my difficult situation to go away — not because I’m skilled at accepting “what is,” but because I knew that even if things were better, my brain would find some other reason to be unhappy. Isn’t that fun?
“Bro your brain really does do that,” my sister affirmed. This one line screamed to me all I needed to know: this was very much an internal, me-issue.
Whenever I look at a breathtaking sunset, a voice in my head nags me to either “capture” the moment with photos, or to put the damn phone down and be present in the moment — whichever one I’m not doing.
When I go somewhere alone, the voice often tells me that this experience would be “better” with someone I love.
When I’m with someone I love for “too long,” I long to be alone.
Unless you’re as familiar with the negativity bias as I am, I bet I know what you’re thinking: “You need therapy.” This is what I’m thinking, anyway (and I do know what the negativity bias is). Unfortunately, (fun fact!) therapists that are in-network with most American health insurance plans are not permitted to speak with clients — even if their services are virtual anyway — when the client is located in a U.S. state outside of where the therapist is licensed. So, even though I’m privileged enough to have health insurance that covers therapy, I’ve been denied services due to my travels.
I’ve recently learned that these rules don’t apply to other countries and that getting therapy while I’m in Thailand is actually fair game. (I’m currently in the process of looking for a therapist again.) For the longest time, though, I didn’t know if this was the case, because a lot of counselors turned me down for being outside of Maryland. This is why — after paying for a life coach out-of-pocket for a few months — I’ve spent the past year being my own “therapist.” (Shoutout to TherapyTok, journaling, and self-help books for making this semi-possible.)
Add this to my “cons” list for being a digital nomad.
So, while I watch my body live the dream, the shackles of my inner critic — or anxiety… or depression… or whatever the hell these thoughts are that are stealing away my joy — are holding me back in a nightmare.
Part of me questions whether I should publish this very personal story for the world to see. Is there shame in opening up like this, to people who didn’t ask? Could be. Either way, I’ve written this for me. In the same way that diagnoses offer validation and clarity for some people, I’m hoping that articulating this experience will help me understand and work through what’s going on in my mind. (Also, I’ve never received any formal diagnoses, but I’ve done enough research to form a pretty good guess of what they’d be.)
To anyone reading this, here’s my advice to you: if you feel that anything (other than basic human needs) stands between you and YOUR “dream life,” just remember: mindset (and mental health) is everything.
