It wasn't always this way.
When I was younger and dreadfully shy, my parents and I flew to London during, unbeknowest to us, the World Cup. We got off the airplane and suddenly everyone was screaming and jumping around. A bit jittery from the recent 9-11 attacks, we were understandably startled by this display--until we realized Beckham had just won a key game with a late goal kick. The streets were full of revelers, the buses packed, and every hotel booked solid.
We had no reservation. I vowed then and there never to arrive at a place without first planning transport and accommodation in advance.
Now, I prefer the exact opposite.
Sure, it took us awhile to find a place outside London with a vacancy. We also had to engage strangers in conversation to help us find our way, track down the right buses, and slog some miles after a sleepless red-eye flight to reach our out-of-the-way hotel. But when I flopped onto that bed, I experienced one of the best sleeps of my life. It felt earned. There was struggle, but personal growth requires struggle. Change is not something presented on a platter. You sometimes have to suffer for it, and in this way you grow.
Another benefit is that of surprise. Surprise, because of its relationship to uncertainty, can be intimidating. Yet at the same time I have found the most amazing places to stay or explore that--if I stuck to Lonely Planet and arranged everthing in advance--would prove impossible to find. I can think of a lovely guesthouse in Corsica, complete with swimming pool, and run by an elderly couple who endeared themselves to our hearts, that was discovered almost entirely due to my lack of preparation.
That being said, there are times where some pre-planning makes a world of difference. What I try to do is turn the stress of uncertainty into a discovery.
I should, at this point, distinguish vacation from travel. Cruise ships are a good example of vacation. You have your own room, meals are prepared regularly, your transport is, well, never far away. Every need is well tended, which is absolutely fine if such an experience is what you are after. To relax, leave worries behind, and let others stress over the details. And god knows there are days where I´d shell out big cash to rid my soul of stress.
Backpacking travel is, to me, a rather different journey. Struggle and hardship is inherently involved. I realize this sounds masochistic, as though I am eager to suffer. In reality, I am involved in a lifelong search for confidence and fortitude, to emerge from the shelter of shyness. To be a better person one must face challenges, of which travel provides ample opportunity.
This means preparing for some unpleasantness. For me, it's not the actual experience of missing the bus or going to four hotels to find a place to sleep that is stressful. It is my response to these unfortunate events that dampens the spirit. Travel demands patience, tolerance and flexibility beyond your capability. If I can say, "There goes our bus! Let's make a new plan. How about..." then a seed for stress germinates into a new source of adventure.
Of course, if you are hungry and hot and sweaty and exhausted and want nothing more than to curl up into a tiny ball and die, then you are bound to snap. Travel tests you, sometimes daily, often by the minute. These challenges can bring out the ugly, yet it is this tension that--if we are mindful--allows us to discover the hidden parts.
In other words, I try to embrace uncertainty. Not an easy thing for most people. The idea petrified my old self-conscious self, and still terrifies me today. Sort of like the giant cockroach that just emerged over the top of the computer monitor--I had no idea that would happen, could not really prepare for it, and yet I chose to laugh instead of scream.
I am reminded of something my mythology teacher once said about monks. "They have the easiest job in the world. Don't get me wrong. I like the monks. But all they have to do is show up."
A generalization, yes, but one that offers insight. Monks are living in a kind of all-inclusive resort, except they have prayer mats instead of a swim-up bar, and daily prostrations instead of Swedish massage. They have guidelines to follow, a way to exist, a schedule for their routines. You simply adhere to the rules, and you'll be fine. Yet life does not come with a guidebook. The more difficult journey is to navigate through life without the rulebook; or rather, determine your own set of beliefs and guidelines based on experience. The situations where you genuinely don't know what to do, where uncertainty hovers about like a demon on either shoulder, are the chance--I'll borrow a cliche--to build character.
Monks don't have to worry about relationships. Such an enterprise is one of life's most difficult pursuits, and they receive a "get out of marriage free" card. Relationships are work. They require effort, time, and energy, sometimes more frequently than you would like. And yet, a healthy relationship, perhaps because of the effort and challenge involved, is quite possibly life's greatest reward. My wife, at times, can be a source of frustration, yet she is undeniably my greatest source of happiness.
Your partner provides a mirror to the parts of yourself that you like, and more importantly those parts that you despise. You can't choose to hide when in relationship; or I suppose you can, but that means living in fear. Fear of rejection, fear of conflict, fear of being hurt. Fear of being in the wrong relationship. Thanks to previous relationships--all of which taught me key aspects about myself, for which I have my ex's to thank--I have firsthand experience with such fear. With Jenn, I am infinitely blessed in not having to entertain even a kernel of doubt, largely due to our policy of complete openness and utmost respect.
With your partner you get irritated, annoyed, flustered, aggravated and want to scream "Are those cucumbers in the salad? You're insane!" Yet with patience, trust and respect, I have learnt to appreciate this gift that she provides, the gift of insight into self. Murky stuff gets dug out that I might choose to ignore. My choice is to resent her for opening this window, or to recognize that no one else can give me this most precious illumination. Jenn is my best teacher.
A relationship without conflict is, I believe, a serious source of concern, and leads to one of two inevitable ends: failure or complacency. I refuse to accept either. Some simply choose not to engage in relationship. It is, like the monks, an easier path, if a lonely one. The rewards are fewer, while the only one to irritate you is yourself.
When I bear witness to my life, I realize I have blazed forth in stark contrast to how most people venture: the older I get, the more adventuresome I become. By the time I'm 80, I'll be bungee jumping naked. I missed out on some fun early on, yet the more I think about this, the more sense it seems to make for my journey from shy to (sometimes, I'm still working on this) assertive.
Considering that I am currently living day by day with my wife in Central America for nearly four months, there's bound to be some growing pains. But I would have it no other way. With Jenn, I share joy, wonder and the deepest kind of love, as well as the challenges that lead to insight. Relationships and travel are journeys both weary and wise, and the best discoveries are those I never knew existed.
What comes next? Perhaps--and this goes against every controlling instinct in my body--it is best for me not to know.
