Musings/complaints about traveling alone, the frustration of missed connections, and the constant draw of that Northern Star

In an unexpected and impulsive fashion, I booked a round trip flight from Zagreb to Minneapolis three weeks ago.

(I'm inserting nature-y pictures of my recent time in Slovenia and Croatia to break up monotony of the text.)

Two hours prior, I was having dinner with my mom in a pizzeria in Rome on our second to last night together. When our eggplant, olive, and mozzarella pie arrived, I could only look at it. Anxiety was brewing in the pit of my stomach, and I had lost my appetite.

Travel anxiety has always been a part of my life. Stressed out LRT rides to the airport, waking up multiple times in the night after forgetting to pack something, finally exhaling when getting on the plane were all part of my experience living away from my parent's house.

Arboretum in Slovenia

Now, it's gotten a little better- I don't have to buy a lot of bus/train tickets ahead of time, and just show up a little before the departure time. Packing my backpack has become a mechanical process. A place for everything, and everything in its place- unless you forget your bag of chargers in a Kosovan Hostel (November 2015), but so far that's been my worse offense.

The mental challenges of traveling go beyond remembering to pack everything and getting to the station on time. It's again coming to terms with the thought that you might never be in this place again, you may not see these people again, and that you are, again, alone on the road. I've learned that these transitions elicit stronger emotions the longer I've remained someplace- on a farm in Turkey, in a house in Romania, for example. And once I leave, it's a tumultuous several days of stress-balling as I continue on my path. Eventually, I calm down, back into my "routine", until again I uproot myself and jump back on the road.

I've become a lot better at saying goodbye, as I usually have a feeling that it won't be the last time I see somebody. It's an incredibly optimistic mindset, but so far it's been pretty truthful. I'm currently on a similar pathway into Eastern Europe as my first time around, and at this point I've repeat-surfed with five of my Couchsurfing hosts, and seen two more of them again. There comes an indescribable feeling when you see a familiar face on the road- be it your former host family, someone you met on the bus a couple of days prior, or a volunteer you worked with on a farm a few months ago. That familiarity grounds me- it definitely reinforces this idea that I have a European "family," so to speak, and that I have made connections that, however brief the interaction may have been, are friendships that can be picked up again without much effort.

Sunset in Zadar, Croatia

Sometimes, though, I get a strong gut feeling that goodbye is goodbye, whether I like it or not. One night prior to our pizza dinner, mom chilled at home, and I went on a Tinder date with someone I'm going to call Danish Daniel. Danish Daniel is an ex-pat living in Rome, and invited me to a craft beer place (how can I resist that? one of the things I miss most about the states.) We spent a couple of hours drinking and chatting, and hit it off pretty well. This was all good and fun, but when we compared schedules for the next two days, nothing was going to work. Which was a total bummer. So, when we said our goodbyes, it was like, "well...see you never I guess?" This is the part that digs into me slightly. Sometimes you connect with a person, but alas, you're a nomad- good luck dating someone in the three short days you're in a city.

On the island of Brac, Croatia

I think this letdown, not uncommon in the last ten months (okay, I'm not going on Tinder dates every night- this pertains mostly to friendships :P) hit me a little harder than usual as I was sitting at dinner with my mom. She was leaving in a couple of days, and I was looking towards being back on the road for two and a half months until I flew to France to start work again. For this period of time, I wasn't exactly sure where I would go, or what I would do, though I knew it had to be out of the Schengen Area. Seeing as I'm on a tight budget I didn't think I could afford to go to the UK or fly to a different continent for a couple of months. Plus, I wanted to see friends I had made along the way last fall, so eventually I decided to work my way through the Balkans and up into Romania again. Not that this wasn't exciting, but the thought of it made me feel a little tired.

Plitvice Lakes National Park, Croatia

A few weeks prior, I was messing around on Skyscanner, toying with flights to Southeast Asia, Northern Africa, etc. Just for kicks, I looked up flights to Minneapolis from Bulgaria and Romania, and back to France in time for camp. Along with a hefty price tag, most of the combos I looked at involved at least 24 hours of travel at ungodly hours. I had daydreamed a little about coming back to enjoy the early summer in the Twin Cities, but that's all it was- just a little wishful thinking.

Okay anyway, back to that eggplant pizza sitting in front of me. I didn't reach for it. I didn't know what was wrong, really, except this gnawing thought in the back of my head: "yep, you're going to be alone again soon. But you always get over it, and you're going to be seeing people you know, and it's going to be great, and..."

Mom knew something was wrong- I wasn't eating (ha)- and asked what's up. I tried to explain, and ending up bursting into tears. "I'm just sick of being alone."

It's true. I'm sick of being alone. Don't get me wrong, I have met wonderful, amazing, people that have made my trip so unique. But soon after, I'm back on the bus or train, moving forward, by myself. It's been a strengthening experience. But I'm sick of making connections and not being able to further them. I want another date with Danish Daniel. Hell, I want five more dates with Danish Daniel. But, obviously, the way I travel doesn't allow for that. And sometimes it's great (for example, if Danish Daniel was not awesome, I have a great excuse not to see him again). And sometimes it sucks. 

I miss hanging out with people who know me and where I come from. I miss my friends. I miss Minneapolis. I miss springtime in the city. I miss craft beer. I miss Mexican food. I miss biking along the Mississippi River. I miss going to 6am yoga classes. (Essentially, I miss being a basic Minneapolis hipster.)

All of this, in some way, was communicated to my mother. Here's the short version. She was pretty straightforward: "why don't you just come home?"

A lot of things went through my mind at this point, including:

"That would be unreal. Too good to be true. Does this count as failing? I can totally stick this out. I don't need to go home. But that would be nice. But I already have a plan! But, spring in Minneapolis."

Etc.

My immediate verbal reaction, however, was: "I can't afford that." And it was true. A flight home, by my research, was the equivalent of two months of traveling for me.

Then my mom said, "I'll help with the ticket." Mother to save the day. I looked up flights again and somehow found a roundtrip from Zagreb for half of what flights were out of Romania or Bulgaria, and a couple hours later, KLM had sent me my itinerary, and, thanks to the generosity of my mother, I was coming home for two weeks.

And so, here I am, hanging out in Northeast Minneapolis, where the sun is shining and the lilacs are hours from bursting into bloom. It's good to be home.