And When She Stood She Stood Tall

The image that comes most vividly to mind is in Sweden.  I've arrived in Stockholm on a gorgeously sunny and warm spring day.  Norway has left me in high spirits as I found the landscape, the culture, the people, all beautiful.  I've heard even more wonderful things about Sweden so I am prepared and ready to be awed.  

I did not have the foresight to book a bed in a hostel prior.

 

Hoisting an over-sized green backpack onto my shoulders I walk out of the train station.  I'm trying to hide my tourist/foreigner/stranger in a strange land status as best I can but the Lonely Planet Europe on a Shoestring guide easily gives me away.  (As if that large backpack and slightly travel dazed and bewildered look in my eye didn't.)  I recall a friend recommending a hostel that's on a house boat, remember her stories of the fun evenings spent there just a month earlier and so I embark, headed toward the water.  It is hot.  Unseasonably so.  The hostel doesn't seem terribly far from the train station so I elect to walk.  Within minutes I'm sweating, my back hurts.  I'm doing my best to soak up the scenery but I reach a point where all I want to do is make it to the damn boat hostel and deposit this my God what is IN this thing? bag.  

After a few more consults with my map, I finally arrive where I am supposed to be.

And the beds on the boat hostel are full.

Damn it.

I walk away, squinting in the sun, frustrated at allowing myself to be so stupid as to trust my friend - the one who had stayed there earlier - when she said "oh, we just walked right on, no need to book ahead."  I plop down on a nearby bench, consulting my travel guide again, aggravated this time, looking for other suggested places to stay.  I allow myself one more minute to berate my own poor planning before I take a breath.  'Learning curve, Kel.' I remind myself.  'Now you know.'

And I did know.  My long, hot, heavy backpack toting Stockholm adventure marked the last time I willingly arrived in a city without a reservation somewhere.  

******

This past Thursday, April 26th, marked the ten year anniversary - ten years! - of my solo backpacking voyage; leaving London one cool, damp morning in April and landing in Bergen, Norway via Oslo that afternoon.  As you might imagine, I have an awful lot of memories from those months traveling about.  I saw some amazingly beautiful sights, I witnessed some ugly moments too.  When I think back, watching my former self as if on a movie screen, what I envision most often is my moment of arrival in a new city.  The location, the time of day, the weather varies but otherwise the scene remains the same no matter the locale.  There's the hurried departure from the train, the hoisting of an over sized green backpack, the bewildered studying of a map, working to get ones bearings quickly.  And then I am out of the train station, onto the adventures that await, swallowing my first breath of air in Stockholm, Paris, Venice, Munich.

There's a part of me that almost can't believe I up and did that, all on my own, at 22 - without a moment of hesitation.  I wanted to see some of the world, explore spots I'd only heard about.  Then, it was no matter that I didn't have anyone to join me on my travels,  I was going.  I was just. going. to. go. 

******

But of course I was going.  I've always been going, because that's just a part of who I am - even when I didn't realize it.

Last week, I found myself standing a few feet away from a slightly raised stage, watching one of the greatest musical performances I have seen in a long while.  The night, the band, the music, the crowd came together in one of those rare and perfect moments - the kind of moment you breathe in and think, oh yes.  This is what it is all about.  This, you think to yourself as you grin ear to ear through each song, I will savor.  During The Lumineers set, I found myself thinking this is it.  This is where I am now, ten years after I was leaving London and heading to the continent.  I don't imagine I'd have guessed this if you'd asked me back then where I'd be in ten years.  And I couldn't offer a clue as to where I'll be in the next ten years.  But it doesn't always matter, does it?  You make the reservations if you can, you trust your guidebooks, and you pay attention to the map as best you are able.  And then you just go.  

Ten years ago, I thought these rules might only apply to landing in a foreign spot, unable to speak or read the local language.  Now though, I think these very same rules can apply to the daily life I've carved out for myself.  You take a deep breath, hoist that big proverbial backpack onto your shoulders every morning and set out the door to live your life.  You might get a bit turned around, perhaps you'll realize that you've been reading the map wrong, you might get frustrated by the damn backpack, and you might even discover you've got no reservations after all.  But you keep going until you find the place to lay your head.  And you remember to be gentle with yourself.  Because you're going.  You are always just going to go.