When COVID first hit, I, like countless others, took the transition into our “new normal” really hard. The girl who once was full of ambition and excitement for the future now sat alone in her room, wondering why she ever let herself get her hopes up for anything in the first place.
Over the course of the next year and a half, this girl slowly began to forget who she was, or at least who she was before the pandemic. She went to school (rather, sat behind a computer screen) for a year and finished up a two-year degree. And though completing a two-year degree in one year is an accomplishment she should have been extremely proud of, it only made her feel worse. That year that she spent behind a screen felt like a year wasted and led her to a fork in the road that she had been unprepared to cross. Should she continue on with school, or wait the pandemic out so she could possibly have a somewhat normal college experience for the remaining two years?
Now, one thing you should know about this girl is that she detests making decisions. In the quest to figure out what to do with her life, she often wished that her parents would have pushed her harder in a certain direction, wished that they would have pressured her into being a lawyer or a doctor, or something else just as pretentious and ambitious. Never mind that she would have hated both of those options- at least she would have had a goalpost to work towards. However, despite all her wishes, her parents maintained their neutral and supportive stance. Of course she recognized that it was a good problem to have, but it still left her feeling stuck in the mud.
Until one balmy July evening when she booked plane tickets.
I’ve always dreamt of traveling, so I guess that buying plane tickets to Paris really isn’t quite as dramatic and shocking as it sounds. Even so, this was big. The biggest thing I’d done for myself ever. After all, planning a solo trip to Paris is no walk in the park (though the trip itself has included many a park walk thus far). And as supportive as my parents are, their oldest daughter venturing out alone to Paris for a month when she’s never even taken a solo trip within the country didn’t exactly put them at ease. But after thirty-six days, and many hours spent watching YouTube videos on self-defense and travel tips, I was off.
Now, I’m not going to paint this experience as something that it’s not. After three flights, twenty hours of traveling, and a cab ride that cost me an arm and a leg as well as one of my kidneys, I was a mess. Between the jet lag and the travel sickness that’s always plagued me after long flights, I spent the majority of the first few days crying on the phone with my family. Not exactly a good look for the self-proclaimed independent traveler. Before traveling, I felt completely prepared. I wasn’t nervous to leave or navigate the city on my own. All the reviews for the hotel I was staying at were positive and said the area was safe. My only real concern was finding a place to convert my American vaccine card to the EU’s version, as I had heard from many people that this certificate was difficult to obtain. But when my plane landed, I realized that this health pass was the last of my concerns. The last thirty minutes of my flight were pretty much pure panic. I’ve never been through customs alone and hadn’t even thought to research how European airports, baggage claims, and currency exchanges work. Most of all, I hadn’t accounted for the new level of loneliness that this brazen act of independence would bring.
Quarantine, for me, meant not seeing my friends and coworkers and teachers, but through it all, I always had my family. My mom and dad have always been my pillars of strength, my two younger sisters my best friends. And now, for the first time in my life, I was alone. Separated from my family by an eight-hour time difference, 4733 miles, and the Atlantic Ocean. And in my moment of reflection, my choice to leave home for a month seemed much more monumental than it had ever seemed before.
As my time here has gone on, I’ve taken things slow. I’m here for a month, so there’s no real rush to see anything because I know I have plenty of time. I didn’t even see the Eiffel Tower or ride the metro for the first time until I had been here for a week. When you first go somewhere new as a first-time solo traveler, everything, even down to something as simple as asking the front desk staff for the breakfast you already paid for is intimidating. So, to avoid major anxiety, I listened to my body. If it was telling me I needed to take a step back into my comfort zone for the afternoon, I listened. Another thing I’ve done to alleviate some of the stress that travel brings is always having food in my hotel room. As much as I want to soak in and experience all that France has to offer, I also know my limits and I know that too much of a new thing often makes me sick. So, the first things I bought at the supermarket were eggs and pasta, foods I knew I liked and could cook in my sleep. During challenging days, knowing that I have easy, filling food at my hotel is a great comfort.
At the end of the day, I’m realizing that this trip has not necessarily been about seeing Paris. Of course, seeing a city that I have always dreamt of visiting and speaking a language I have always loved is not a ball and chain on my ankle, but I’m just realizing that it was not the purpose of this trip. This trip has really been about me remembering who I was before COVID. It was about me learning how to be independent after having a pretty independence-free college experience. It’s been about learning to rely on myself. And I’d say, all things considered, it’s going pretty well.
