In January of 2001, I am getting on a plane bound for Sydney, Australia. I have an open return ticket, good for one year. In the space of that year, I am planning on traveling through New Zealand, Australia, and parts of China and Southeast Asia. This is an ongoing chronicle of my travels.

may 8, 2001
It's an odd feeling, this. I am on the other side of the world, far away from most things that are familiar to me. Many people I know back home consider me lucky for my travels (I am) and seem to believe that I am constantly awash in excitement (am not). I am the individual who has struck out independently for a year or longer. I am supposedly meeting amazing people and seeing things that, by the virtue of the fact that they are halfway around the world, are fabulously interesting (and really sometimes I am and have been). But what nobody knows is that my current working life is shockingly normal, as normal as any work experience I have previously had and probably markedly less interesting.

I also have this feeling, one which I didn't really expect, and one which would probably surprise most of the people who I know back home. It's a feeling of missing out on certain things happening in Vancouver, things that my friends might not view as particularly significant but things on which I, so far away, place a great deal of importance. Friends of mine who didn't previously spend time with one another have been skiing, hiking, rock climbing, drinking wine and watching movies together. Without me. I know that when I go home, there will be "remember that time?" conversations in which I will be an observer only, rather than as a participant. Sometimes I wish that I could be physically and psychologically in two different places at once because I don't want to be missing out on such things but I still want to be where I am now.

I think this is partially because the things that I am experiencing over here can only be shared second-hand with friends back home. Either that or they are things shared with new people who have no tangible connection to my life at home and who I will likely leave behind at the end of my travels. When I return home, these experiences are only real inasmuch as I remember them; there is no frame of reference for my friends at home to relate to my experiences while away. I won't have "remember the time?" conversations because so much of what I have to relate is tenuous - more experiential and not easily described than actual - and difficult to relate or reminisce on with people who were not there. At the same time, I will be unable to participate in their conversations recalling the previous year. And, quite frankly, I know I will sometimes feel left out.

At the same time, I don't want to be seen as complaining, and I would never discuss this with my friends in a serious way. It certainly isn't something that I brood about and it does not affect my activities over here in any way. The fact remains that I would still rather be here doing what I am doing. But I also realize that things are never as clearly defined as I think they should be and I am aware of these somewhat inexplicable fluctuations of emotions as I live and travel in this far away place.
posted by tina 5/8/2001 01:29:09 PM