What we thought we needed
If I had to, could I live in a hut like this? (National Library of Ireland)
We all have stuff we’re weird about.
It might be that we need a certain amount of sleep or solitude to function. We might refuse any situation in which we’re going to be uncomfortably close to strangers for a prolonged period of time. We might never leave the house without a full face of makeup or carefully styled hair.
Me, I’m weird about food. I hate being hungry, and I get anxious if I don’t have a clear path toward what I deem to be appropriate food at regular intervals. I’m also weird about making sure the house is impeccably tidy before I go on a trip or a guest comes to stay.
The other day, these two compulsions conflicted inconveniently. I was so busy putting the finishing touches on my house that I ran out of time for breakfast and a planned trip to the grocery store for additional snacks (I’ve told you that I am bad at time).
That meant that I was going to have to experience a five-hour bus trip with only the a half a bag of potato chips I had happened to pack. A five-hour bus trip during which I needed to work and concentrate.
Even though, for me, this was a grave situation, I decided that I wasn’t going to panic about it. I accepted that I was just going to be hungry—it wasn’t the end of the world. Especially since I had already had one breakfast that morning (albeit some three hours earlier).
So I embarked on the journey, and yes, I was hungry. I had trouble concentrating and I was a bit listless. But there were things to distract me: My work. The beautiful scenery going by. Some movie featuring J.K. Simmons that played soundlessly on an overhead television.
I did pretty well until the last hour. But even then, I wasn’t miserable. I simply existed. I let the work go and stared out the window and listened to music. And when I got to the airport and went up the long escalator to the departure hall, I felt great. Hungry, but great.
Apparently, I won’t die if I go several waking hours without eating. That’s useful information. I really thought I needed lunch in order to be okay. If I have a more flexible definition of “okay,” then I can make it without lunch if I have to.
Over the course of the pandemic, we’ve all learned how to have a more flexible definition of okay. We’ve all given up a lot of what we thought we needed in order to function. For me, one of those things was travel itself. I depended on travel to give me perspective on my life, to help me reset, or to offer a sense of adventure. Not only did I enjoy going places in general, I particularly enjoyed going to places I’d never been.
My travel experiences changed me in important ways. They made me who I am. So when travel disappeared, how was I going to cope?
As a matter of fact, it was difficult. I had to find new ways of coming up with things to write about, new ways of growing and challenging myself, new sources of novelty and adventure, and new paths toward perspective and self-reflection. It felt slow and uncomfortable, kind of like being really hungry on a long bus ride. But similarly, I discovered new reserves of strength and fortitude in myself. I could adapt and even thrive under my new circumstances.
A long bus ride and two long flights later, traveling to new places is once again part of my life (so is eating frequently and freely, and ideally tacos). It is as magical and wonderful as I remembered. But now I know that I can live without it. It makes me wonder what else I’m holding onto that isn’t necessary. What changes when I let go of it? What freedom can I discover that actually enhances my experience of being alive?
Maybe I don’t need what I think I need. Maybe I’m more flexible—and powerful—than I believed. What about you?
