An introvert's guide to solo travel: 5 rules to a successful adventure

I posted this on my Medium page, not knowing if it falls under “Travel Writing” or plain essays. In any case, I’ll cross-post here and hope for the best!

There’s something of an art to balancing over-planning a trip and have it be so much I’ll just wing it that the trip becomes a logistical nightmare once you arrive. And as I didn’t do a wrap-up post for my Southeast Asia Adventure, I’ll let this one stand in its place.

It begins like this…

I’ve just returned from 3 weeks in Southeast Asia. It had been a rough few months at work, with an overload of “on”: meetings and projects and deadlines, and too little of the quiet, nature-filled and people-free moments that enable me to adequately recharge my batteries. So when the opportunity to visit my uncle in Bangkok over the holidays presented itself, I seized the day, as it were, to carve an itinerary around that visit.

I’m also the textbook definition of an introvert: I avoid parties and am exhausted by small talk and crowds; I’m very careful about who I share my thoughts and feelings with, and I need my “alone time” to recharge and feel human again. I plan and read and write and consider…and I often find destination inspiration from mythology or historical fiction or travel writing. And it seems strange, but I tend to bump into my kind of people when I’m travelling. Once away, there is little time for small talk, and there are usually mutual reasons for being in that place; so conversation, even with complete strangers, doesn’t feel like a burden or a chore. I don’t feel judged or awkward or out of place because, well, I am out of place…so that thing is an immediate known, and it is therefore immediately off the table as a source of anxiety. This is the contradictory and backwards logic which rules an introvert’s life (yet confounds many an extrovert), but also that which makes so many other things accessible in far-flung places.

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Ode to the pre-travel freakout

IMG_20180418_150104_957It’s common, I think, to have a pre-trip freakout or two.

I pass through phases: a week or two out, a couple days out, and then of course the day I land: a jet-lagged, culture-shocked lump, just having been hurled through space and time in a giant flying metal tube, stepping foot on another continent, into a different climate; the concept of away hitting all senses at once.

And so, on a day that finally resembles springtime in New England, in my mind is a scene like this, a pristine beach and a turquoise horizon. The first of the faraway travel freakouts has subsided… the international wire transfer sorted, deposits deposited, visa acquired, travel advisories acknowledged, packing started, work delegated (and colleagues on board), lists checked.

I know I’m not the only one who goes through stages of freak-out before a trip, and it’s National Poetry Month here in the US, so I penned a silly ode to the things that run through my head as I prep for the next adventure.

Ode to the pre-travel freakout…

You’ll make your connection,
Your bags will get through,
The hotel won’t be awful,
The skies will be blue…
.
The orange asshat won’t wage war,
Your visa is fine,
The dog will be in good hands,
And the water heater won’t die…
.
A smiling co-adventurer will meet you,
The diving won’t suck,
Your French is somewhat passable,
So, monkey mind, STFU!

😊🐒🌴