I spend 6 months last year backpacking. I am 26 years old, so that’s a tiny part of my live, around 1/52. Yet, since I came back in February, I have itchy feet.
There’s definitely a lesson in staying still here for me, but I know now just how much you can do in one day. You can travel through multiple countries by local bus, from greeting the morning in tropical cloudjungles in Laos down to its 4000 Islands and river buffalos through the beauty and chaos that is Cambodia, and you want me to sit still from 9-5 listening to other people’s achievements?
It’s entitled, and privileged, and arrogant to then expect the rest of my days to be equally exciting to my soul. Courses and diplomas just don’t do that for myself anymore, and I need to own up to that. How much of my time am I going to invest in being polite and just showing up and engaging to make other people around me feel better (because in the moment, I won’t be able to stop myself from it).
How stupid and minuscule these worries sound. The kind of worries you won’t remember on your deathbed. Let me make a name for myself, and if you see me fail, we might just have to be a bit more patient.