On the Ego of Traveling

Let me wax on for a bit, like the grandma that I am.

Last month, I took a two and a half week vacation to three different countries. Sixteen days in Singapore, Thailand, and Vietnam. It was my first proper time off work since coming to Korea (actually, no—Chuseok was a thing).

Everyone I met told me that a rough week in a country was simply too short. Of course, there's no way to comprehend a country in just a week, or a month, or even a year. And anyway, when you're taking time off work, you've only got so many days, and I wanted to travel to as many places as possible. That was the reasoning.

Because, well, between just you and me, I've got this checklist in my brain. How many countries have I been to? How many do I want to go to? How can I make that happen? How many air miles can I rack up before I turn 25?

As much as I try to focus on the sentimentality of really Being Somewhere, I still view travel as points toward my overall Success As a Human score. It's a bit troublesome, I know. More than a bit. Travel shouldn't be something you do for bragging rights, but it's disgustingly easy to view it that way, especially with the social internet.

(There I go again, sounding a grandma. People have always been interested in increasing their social capital; this is not new. But we all have to admit it's far easier to broadcast our perceived clout with our trusty bird apps.)

I've been obsessed with maintaining the image of a perfect life. Or perhaps I should say, a wild and bright and enviable life.

And before I go on with this rambling, I do want to make it clear that I find myself genuinely happy and I do believe I'm in a a good place in my life. That changes by the day—the hour—but, generally, I think I'm solid.

And another disclaimer: let's not get it twisted, it's entirely fair to post about your travels. However, for me, my compulsion to showcase my life comes from pure ego. I want people to know where I am, that I'm trying unique and incredible cuisine, and that I am having the time of my life abroad. I try to caption my evidence with a quirky and humble persona--because above all I want people to know that I might be ~well-traveled~ and all, but I'm not stuck-up about it. All worth comes from the eyes of others, so my travels must all be curated with just the perfect tone.

At the root of it is my need to be seen as successful. I have these half-formed desires to run a marathon one day, to become a black belt in Taekwondo, to go teach in Spain, to earn my PhD, to travel to 20+ countries, to speak at least three languages fluently, to sell my art consistently, to have stories that make me interesting and unique. Each of these things are healthy goals that would encourage great memories, self-confidence, and chances for introspection, so they're not wrong to exist in and of themselves.

Yet I think my obsessive desire to do these things comes from a place of deep insecurity and an ever-present impostor-syndrome. I want people to see me as important, talented, and well-rounded. When I imagine accomplishing these things, I imagine not the rush of adrenaline or pride I'd get from the victory of a hard-fought effort. I instead picture how that post on Facebook would look on all my friends' feeds. I imagine my life through the lens of others, and I can't imagine that will lead me to long-term happiness.

So how to fix this? How to travel for the sake of travel? How to disconnect my sense of worth from the opinions of others? Is it possible? Has anyone truly ever done that?

Well, first off, I have to remind myself that I haven't traveled only because of internet points. I've found connection and peace and joy in my travels. I find hope in it. I've connected with vibrant people and been given beautiful opportunities to hear their stories. Vietnam, in particular, did so much to teach me about the Vietnam War and the Communist perspective of the Vietnamese. Hao Lo Prison and talking with boy named Ivan on the train will forever stick in my memory. I walked away with more than just photos for Instagram.

It's not that the social media I use is inherently evil, either—though obviously, it's always attuned to keep its users addicted. I've been unable to break that addiction so far; I've deleted and re-downloaded and deleted again Instagram six times as of this posting. Twitter, thrice. Facebook, thank god, only once, though I do keep it logged in on my work computer.

I used to never post, and my desire to just be "in the moment" was so strong that it swung hard in the opposite direction of my current issue; I have hardly any photos or videos from my time in Italy.

There is a middle ground here: I should take pictures or journal, but simply not post.

I don't want to quit these platforms completely and eternally, but perhaps that's the only way to stop associating the value of experiences in my life with the rush of validation I get from posting. Value versus validation, you know how it goes.

It's complicated, is what I'm trying to say. It's not like there's a switch I can fix to turn my brain. Even deleting every app on my phone won't fix the root of my issue, which is that I simply, deeply want others to be impressed by me.

Perhaps finding a quiet, self-sufficient pride in journeys taken comes with time and age.

This navel-gazing will be continued, I'm sure.