I wish I could say that realizing such a grand lesson was immediately life changing. It wasn’t. Shortly thereafter I moved to Toronto, where I didn’t know a soul, and was presented with a whole host of opportunities to make friends. And I did make a few friends, but mostly I made acquaintances, a whole shwackload of them.
I lived and worked on Queen Street, so I walked up and down that street every single day. And I loved it. To me it was the heart of the city, a beautiful daily adventure, and everything I could possibly want. And because I spent so much time on Queen Street, it didn’t take long for myself and the other regular fixtures to start noticing each other. There was a guy at the Laundromat who told me which machines were the best, and who invited me to his friend’s place for Thanksgiving dinner one year (the most beautiful Thanksgiving I’d ever seen). There was the door man at the Bovine who would tell me all sorts of crazy stories when I stopped to chat with him on my way home. There were plenty of other faces that grew familiar, and who I’d swap a hello or a smile with.
There were my coworkers at HMV. There were all the same faces on the film sets I worked on, and who would often invite me into their Euchre games. There were the girls I did promotional work with. There was a rotating door of roommates, a handful of people my age at church (while I was attending), and the same 20-something, girl-next-doors who I’d share audition waiting rooms with. Just to be clear, I met a LOT of people in Toronto.
But knowing a lot of people and having a lot, or any, friends, are two entirely different things. Sure, I’d chat with my coworkers while on shift, then smile and wave at a bunch of Queen Streeters on my walk home, but once I was home I rarely went out again, I rarely received any phone calls, and I spent more time alone and lonely than even my Introverted self was comfortable with.
So why didn’t I take the friend-making lesson to heart? Why didn’t I reach out? I don’t know. I DID spend time with people that I enjoyed, but I also felt like most of the people I knew were exactly what they were: acquaintances. It was nice work with them, chat with them, and occasionally go to parties with them, but I didn’t feel like there was any connection, I didn’t think any of them would want to just come over and hang out with me, or meet up for coffee and a philosophical discussion about life.
How wrong I was.
To be fair, my time in Toronto wasn’t entirely devoid of close friends. When I first moved to the city I met this spunky blonde. She was in my circle of church acquaintances so we crossed paths here and there, but that was about it until one day she invited me to go see Blur with her at one of Toronto’s awesome little live music venues. I was baffled by her invitation because we didn’t seem to have a connection, but maybe all her friends were busy, or maybe she felt sorry for me? I dunno, but I went with her, we had a great time, and I’m sooooo glad she went out on a limb and took that first step towards making friends.
We clicked that night, we found common ground and made an incredible connection. It turned out that we were both new to the city, both actors working our way through the audition grind, and both living off savings and avoiding getting “real” jobs while we pursued our dream. Which meant that we spent an entire summer going to amazing live music gigs, seeing a lot of live comedy, dating the musicians we watched on stage, taking naps together, going on fast food dates (we’d share one combo, but each get our own dessert), occasionally working promotion jobs together and generally stomping up and down Queen West during long, warm, gorgeous, Toronto summer nights. That was a glorious time.
Maybe that’s why I forgot about my light-bulb moment, because I’d been lucky enough to be invited out instead of having to do the inviting, and then I had a friend – and one friend was clearly all I needed.
I was absolutely devastated when she moved away.
And by then, my acquaintances were so firmly in place as secondary players in my life that I had no idea how to invite them in and ask them to step up as friends. And so I was lonely, despite knowing the names and faces of dozens – possibly even hundreds – of Torontonians.
Four years later I decided that it was time for me to leave the city. As word got out that I was moving, suddenly I was inundated with a flood of people who were desperate to spend time together. I was blown away.
There were two reasons for this: The first is that Toronto can be true to its reputation of being business-like, cold and a little snobby. People are busy. And as such, you need to make plans, often weeks or months in advance. Want to grab a coffee with someone? Great! How does Thursday after next sound? Yikes. What I was reading as indifference was really just a bit of a cultural gap.
The second and much more compelling reason, was that somehow, unbeknownst to me, I’d made connections with way more people than I’d realized. Sure, it was just a spark in many cases, but there was enough between us that suddenly these acquaintances were desperate to see that spark fanned into a cozy fire before I traipsed off to the prairies.
I was so grateful for the attention as people flooded me with invitations to go out or meet for conversations or simply came by my house to spend time with me. But I was also sad, because had I known that people liked me and thought about me and genuinely wanted to get to know me better, maybe it would have changed how I interacted with them. Maybe I would have been more confident in calling them up and initiating the ability to further our connection, to check out whether that spark would lead to a lasting friendship. And I was sad that all these people were so “busy” that they didn’t take the time to seek out connections until the opportunity was almost lost to them.
And so, Lesson Number Two in How To Make Friends wasn’t too far flung from Lesson Number One, but obviously I’d failed to really learn that lesson the first time. Now I knew that not only did friend-making not magically happen by itself, but that I had to be willing to try and ignite even the smallest of sparks.
by McKinnleyWhen I was young I don’t remember thinking all that much about making friends, they were just kind of there. Kids in my class who I’d been in school with for years. Kids my age at church who I saw on Sundays, during week day activities, and later on at teen dances. There were two sisters my age who lived two houses down from me, practically my entire life. We met when I was 5, our mothers had been friends for ages, and in spite of lots of differences and ups and downs, we remained constant fixtures in each other’s lives for the next 13 years while we were neighbours, and I’m still friends with both those girls today. There were a handful of girls that lived within walking distance of me as a teenager and we did lots of stuff together, and which meant we pretty much had 5x the closet between all our shared clothes! As I made my way through high school I still had my childhood and church friends, but my circle expanded to teens in neighbouring towns, as well as the skater kids, musicians and serious, artsy teens in my high school, most of whom I met through drama and acting. (For the record, acting is something I NEVER thought I would be into, and I still don’t know what possessed me to join that first drama class in grade 10, but I truly believe it changed my life.) I was never the most popular kid, but I always had friends around.
Of course as I grew up and moved away from my childhood friends, as I entered the working world and different college programs, things changed. Sure, there were people around and I would connect with a few of them, but it wasn’t quite the same. But it wasn’t until I was finishing my second college program that the first “How To Make Friends” shoe dropped.
My classmates and I were sitting around, reflecting on our year spent together in the program. One girl began sharing about how, while she’d enjoyed her time, she’d often felt lonely, so far away from her friends and family. She didn’t feel really connected to anyone and had often sat in her rented room, alone, wishing somebody – anybody – would phone and invite her to go out or hang out or just say hi. I was a little bit blown away because I’d had more than a few of those moments myself, just wishing that somebody would make the effort to see me and talk to me and want to connect with me.
And I suddenly realized that instead of sitting around waiting for a call, I could be the one to make that call! I told you these revelations were simple, but how life-changing it can be to understand that in order to feel connected you have to reach out for those moments, that they don’t always just happen of their own volition.
I didn’t know that girl too well, nor did I feel any particular connection to her, but how different would both of our college experiences have been if I’d picked up the phone and said, “Hey, I’m kind of bored and wondered if maybe you were bored too? I thought we could maybe be bored together, or else go find something to do so we’re not bored. What do you think?” Whether or not we became life-long friends doesn’t really matter, it would have been the thought and the effort and the Doing Something that mattered. And who knows where that may have led.
So I guess the first lesson I learned about how to make friends, was to stop expecting that it would magically happen by itself.
by McKinnleyIn spite of how my last couple of posts may have come across, I’m not actually that bad at making friends.
That being said, I have a confession to make, albeit a fairly obvious one: I’m an Introvert.
Being an Introvert, I was a painfully shy kid, an awkward teen, and a somewhat confused and frustrated young adult. But by the time I turned 30 I finally felt not only comfortable but confident in my own skin, and what a relief that was! Oh sure, I still feel shy, awkward and frustrated a good chunk of the time, but I’ve learned how to either get past it, or just be ok with it.
As a side note, I want to mention the book “Quiet” by Susan Cain and add a lot of exclamation points behind it!!!! HolyCrapBlewMyMind. Of course I relate to it in a way that brings me to tears, but the truly eye-opening part was learning about the physiological differences between Introverts and Extroverts, and how each personality type functions best under vastly different circumstances. Certain people in my life make soooooooo much more sense now! I’d love to elaborate on some of these ideas later on, but right now, back to the point of this post:
Making Friends
I’ve never been one of those bubbly, charismatic people who effortlessly draw others to them, like cats to a can of tuna. I’m not a big fan of large groups of people, and small talk makes me anxious. I’d much rather have a great, intimate, open-hearted conversation with one interesting person than introduce myself to 20 people at a party, thank you very much. Not that I don’t like parties, or don’t go to them, sometimes they’re the best thing ever, but I generally leave exhausted rather than invigorated. I also come across as an enigma or a mystery, and can be a bit of an acquired taste, or so I’ve been told. *shrug*
And all of that is ok, but it also means I’ve spent a lot of time being lonely. Sure, as an Introvert I love and need my alone time, but I also deeply crave connection, and that’s something you need other people for.
I had a few lightbulb moments in my 20’s, when it came to interacting with people and being lonely, and thankfully I’ve learned some tried and true techniques to making friends. Techniques that are deceptively simple, but often overlooked. Techniques that even this hard core Introvert has been able to utilize to draw some really cool people into my life.
Part Two of an upcoming How To Make Friends series coming up next, so stay tuned!
by McKinnleyI wrote this during my second visit to Nepal. I’d finished with the volunteer house in Kathmandu, so I decided to venture out of the city, to the charming tourist town of Pokhara. There were mountains and a lake, and it kind of reminded me of Banff. I originally wanted to do some hiking, but I ended up not feeling so great – physically or mentally. Traveling alone can be both a blessing and a curse. Having the complete freedom to do what you want, when you want, without having to consult or consider someone else, is awesome. And I’ve often found that I actually meet more people when I’m alone. But it sucks when you see something really cool and wish there was someone around to share the moment, or when you just want a buddy to hang out with.
Does anybody around here play Cribbage? I’d love a game right now. A few days to myself, to relax, post photos, and do some writing sounded lovely, in theory… But being alone these days tends to be more lonely than lovely, and three days of free time can be tedious when you don’t know a soul, or the lay of the land, and when Internet connections are few and far between.
I do enjoy my own company, don’t get me wrong, but I’m still working on feeling relaxed and content when wildly out of my element. I’ve been repeating something of a mantra to myself lately, frequently, and it goes, “He always looked like he belonged exactly where he was.” I repeated it in my head this afternoon as I walked down the unfamiliar Lakeside drag in Pokhara. It never fails to calm my nerves, slow my heart, and raise my chin a little.
Interestingly, Mr. Nurse was surprised to learn that I’m 5’8″, he thought I was taller than his 5’10”. He commented that very confident people seem to come across as tall. Do I really seem that confident? I feel very small and awkward these days, so it was startling to hear his perspective. Maybe it explains his nervousness.. I’ll have to pick his brain about it later, but I always feel so self-indulgent asking people how they feel around me.
This afternoon an American girl asked me about my lip ring. Later on I saw her and her friend in a coffee shop, so I plucked up all my nerve and approached them. I had to give myself a serious pep talk before I walked over to their table, you’d think I was 15 and approaching a gorgeous older man…. But my pep talk went a little something like this, “McKinnley, get a grip. You’re alone, a traveler, they’re girls, and they’ve already talked to you, what on earth do you have to be uncomfortable about? Ok, put it this way, if one of them approached you and wanted to chat, how would you react?” I come across as oh so self-possessed, but in fact they had already talked to me, and I’d been guarded and obviously uncomfortable I’m my response. Sigh. I’d kicked myself at the time, and now I had a second chance that I was seriously considering brushing off. But realistically, I much prefer being approached to doing the approaching, as long as I don’t feel intimidated – let’s chalk it up to the shy, introverted, ugly duckling that inhabited my skin for so many years. (For the record, I certainly wasn’t approaching gorgeous, older men when I was 15. It’s hilarious to even try and imagine it…)
I got over myself and said hi to the girls, who immediately invited me to join them. See McKinnley, how hard was that? The best way to not be lonely, is to meet new people. Or call up old friends (but that’s not really an option for a few more days).
How to fill a day: Look at your options. Decide what you’d like to do. Take your time in fulfilling the desired tasks. Give in to whims and sudden desires. Savour as many moments as possible.
And so I’m sitting in a little open air restaurant, drinking a happy hour priced beer (650ml Everest lager, 199 rupees, which is about $2), and munching my way through a couple baskets of complimentary popcorn, while I alternately read and write. It’s delightful, truly. A belly fully of beer makes me feel tired, but when I check the time it’s only 6:30. It’s already dark out, and with limited power in Nepal it’s actually easy and rather satisfying to both go to bed and rise with the sun. But 6:30pm is a bit too early. I’ve been wandering the same street since about noon, so I’m about ready to return to my hotel room. The girls said there’s a popular bar to hang out and meet people, and it’s only a block from my hotel. Maybe I’ll head there..?
by McKinnleyI’m in Nepal, a country I’ve mentally salivated over for years now. I paid a lot of money to be here, and spent a lot of time in transit to be here… And now I’m HERE. And I’m not exactly wondering why I’m here, but how I keep finding myself in these same situations. You know the ones – or maybe you don’t – where you’re in some exotic locale, everything is unknown and waiting to be explored, and you somehow decide (or not decide, exactly, it just kind of happens) to spend the afternoon walking aimlessly, wishing someone would suddenly appear and drag you off on an adventure, and then you spend the evening reading in your hotel room, wishing someone was there to drag you out to do something fun, and then with sheer force of will you put on your big girl pants and head out to the Busy Bee Cafe because you heard that’s where everyone goes, and you’re hoping the magic will finally begin to spin and weave around you, except you find yourself sitting in the back garden, alone, drinking a glass of candy-sweet red wine and wondering if everyone who ever described you as Adventurous is totally delusional or if you just fake it way, way too well.
I really really enjoy my alone time, but occasionally it’s more of a curse than a blessing.
How different would it be if I had a longed-for companion right now? We’d probably be sitting in much the same place, except we’d be playing a game of Crib, and I’d be talking instead of typing, and I’d care a little less that I wasn’t Meeting Anyone or Having The Time Of My Life. What exactly constitutes the The Time Of My Life?
For me it’s about connection. Being part of a group, or just sitting across from someone I enjoy. It generally doesn’t matter what we’re doing. So if people and connection is so overwhelmingly important to me, WHY AM I SO BAD AT MEETING PEOPLE AND MAKING FRIENDS?! One of life’s great mysteries, I suppose.
So I’ll just sit here with my strange wine and the statue of Buddha and the little fake waterfall and my iPad… I’ll play it cool and enjoy my time well enough, but secretly I’ll be hoping that someone can’t resist my allure and sits down beside me for a conversation. It’s tough spending so much time in my head.
by McKinnleyI have a few more India and Nepal travel thoughts and tales still to post, but last week I took a little break and skipped off to Hawaii, so let’s talk about that.
Hawaii. Amazing. It was exactly what I needed. I love it when that happens.
March 11 I posted to my Facebook:
“Today. I’m so perfectly, blissfully content. I haven’t been this happy in months.”
A friend private messaged me: “Not to be rude, but were you not just traveling a bit ago? How could that be not happy?”
I wasn’t offended, in fact I was glad he’d asked: “Yes I was in India and Nepal a few weeks ago. It was an interesting trip, but sometimes cultural travel is more of an experience than a fun time. It was good, don’t get me wrong, but yesterday was filled with perfect weather, amazing food, a gorgeous hike through the forest and up a mountain to a spectacular view, a really cool fish market, tasty drinks, a fun game, lounging by the pool and some of my very favourite people ever.
I was comfortable and excited and peaceful all at once. I wasn’t lonely. I was doing exactly what I wanted and needed to be doing
The past few months have been stressful and sad and lonely… There have been good moments, but yesterday was ALL good moments, and it was very needed.”
Funny, but I didn’t realize how just OK I’d been, until suddenly I was deliciously, delightfully happy. Not that I’ve been unhappy.. The past 6 months have been tough and stressful, but I was never depressed to the point of not seeing the light, of not being able to laugh or appreciate how very much I have.
Comfortable. Excited. Peaceful. It had been awhile since I’d felt any of those things, let alone all three at the same moment.
I almost didn’t go to Hawaii. I’d only been home from my big travel for three weeks and I was just getting settled back into my cozy home life. I was doing lots of yoga and just getting my vibe (and flexibility) back after 5 weeks off. I was going to miss my drum class and a couple of practices, which really bummed me out. And work was cra-cra-craaaaazy. I didn’t see how I could leave again, nor did I want to. But, my plane ticket was already booked, so on Sunday, March 9, I got home from work at 1:45am, 15 minutes later it was 3am (thank you Daylight Savings), I haphazardly packed my suitcase then fell into bed for less than 2 hours of sleep before heading to the airport. Phew.
And then suddenly I was enveloped with perfect 23 degree sunshine, surrounded by some of my very favourite people, and spending my days doing only things I love: hiking, surfing, walking down the beach, yoga, checking out new places (the North Shore!!), playing games, reading, laying by a pool, having great conversations, cooking.. The time was busy, but completely relaxed. It was EXACTLY what I needed, and I’m so glad I went.
Back home again, the buzz has worn off a bit, but like any good drug, I’m chasing that high. I feel my best when I’m up early, accomplishing a lot, spending time in nature, and connecting with people. I can’t do much about the weather here, or the lack of surf, but I can focus on doing things that make me feel comfortable, excited and peaceful. Like drum circles. Planning dinner parties. Buying new books (E-Squared – Nine Do-It-Yourself Energy Experiments That Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality). And daydreaming about owning a surfboard, and only brushing my hair once a month.
There are always ups and downs.. It’s nice to hit a solid up though!
What feelings do you want to chase a little more in your own life? Tell me in the comments – I love conversations and connecting!
by McKinnleyAnd thankfully the next day is better. One of the girls I’m with volunteers at an organization in Calgary, which runs a school in Delhi. They’ve asked that she check on the school while she’s here. The four of us are supposed to go visit together, but the other two girls decide they should go to the train station to buy tickets they’ll need in a few days. So it’s just she and I. I actually have no idea what we’re going to see and I’m vaguely annoyed to be running an errand instead of exploring, but there’s no way I’m going out into the streets alone again.
We spend an hour in traffic, then get into a second car with the school director, who drives us to the outskirts of Delhi, past sprawling farm estates that no longer farm, and into one of Delhi’s infamous slums. My interest is definitely piqued.
The director tells us how the slum kids have some opportunity for education, but not enough to make a difference. He also explains that public schools, even outside the slum, are often taught by teachers who can’t actually pass the exams themselves. The quality of education is appalling low, plus girls rarely stay past primary school, with boys generally dropping out around middle school. This organization runs a school in each of Delhi’s eight slums. They are free, but attendance is limited to those who’ve signed up, since space is minimal. The school we visit has three rooms, each about 7 feet square. They have thirty students, age 6-14 officially, but there are a few tiny kids that can’t be more than four. The kids seem shy, but when we pull out our cameras they perk up, and it’s not long before they’re all demanding we take their photo, and then wanting to see the shot from the back of the camera. They are beautiful.
We take a walk through the slum, us two white girls with the school director and another man to lead us. It is what I expected, but it’s still shocking to see it in person: as far as the eye can see is a “tent village” created from scraps of metal, wood, cloth and plastic. Shelters really give the barest hint of actual shelter, and privacy is practically non existent. It is dirty, and barely contains the most basic of human needs. There is a truck that comes by daily with drinking water, that the residents must line up with their own containers to fill, and hope they have enough to get by until the next truck arrives.
And yet as we walk by most people grin and wave at us. In fact, we come upon a group of women who are shaping flour dough into circles, which the men are frying into chapatti (a type of bread), and they wave us over to join their circle for a photo opportunity. There are so many things I want to photograph in the slum, but I feel intrusive snapping pictures of their life, a white girl behind a lens who is excited by the novelty but will sleep soundly in her pristine hotel that night.
The women then indicate “food” and our guide translates that they’re asking us if we want to eat. I don’t hesitate to accept. Apparently they are having a celebration because a home has been built, a more permanent structure of concrete, and it’s ready for people to move into. About 35 people are having lunch and everyone seems excited. They take us inside the house and seat us on a small couch. We four are the only ones inside, everyone else is sitting in the courtyard on the ground. I understand that they are honouring us with the couch, but I’d rather be with the rest of the group in the courtyard. They fill our dishes with a vegetable curry, fresh chapatti, and a rich rice pudding with chunks of fresh coconut. It’s delicious. I clean my plate and when the girl I’m with only has one bite, I finish hers as well. It will turn out to be one of the best meals I have in India. And it was offered to me, a stranger, free of charge, from a bunch of people who will live out their entire life in a slum. It was humbling. And my first experience with the incredible hospitality of Indian people.
As we walk back to the school, I see a bunch of kids playing in the dirt road. One little boy is rolling a scooter tire down the road with a stick, and I try really hard to get a picture of him because the only time I’ve seen such a thing is in old-timey photos from the early 1900’s! He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, and I can’t help but reflect on all the kids I see in Canada who are surrounded by piles of toys, games, books and electronics, yet they’re still whiney, demanding, bored and unhappy. How easily we become spoiled and complacent by the bounty, the excess, we Westerners are surrounded with. He’s also wearing a pair of filthy grey sweatpants, clearly his only pair of pants because the seat is completely worn out and I can see his little brown bum peeking through.
It’s so unfair, this world, this life. And I’m so, so grateful that I was born into a happy, healthy family, raised with a roof overhead and more than my base needs being met, in a country where freedom is the norm and opportunity abounds for anyone willing to step up and take it.
This is one of the reasons I love to travel. The perspective it gives. Somehow seeing a photo of a slum in India just isn’t the same as walking through one, and being greeted by the smiling children there.
by McKinnley“India is one of those trips that gets better the further you’re removed from it,” my friend Steve tells me as he’s driving me to the airport, “The stories you’ll tell later on will be totally worth it, so try and keep perspective.” I knew exactly what he was referring to.
I have a painting on my wall that reads, “Travel is Life,” but just because I love traveling doesn’t mean it’s all excitement and ease and pleasure. The actual travel part is exhausting; planes, trains, buses and cabs that are generally crowded and usually desperately uncomfortable. (Boats, however, are awesome. Always choose boats when given the option.)
There other things that are uncomfortable as well: in my opinion water closets are one of the worst offenders. They are small bathrooms which include a shower, but without a curtain or any barrier, so when you shower you have to sidestep the toilet, and everything in the room gets soaked. Your clothes and towel have to be balanced on some tiny surface that you hope stays dry, or left outside the door. Once you’re finished the entire room is wet, so when you re-enter later on – to brush your teeth or look in the mirror or use the toilet – you have to either wear shoes, or strip off your socks and enter barefoot, and either way your wet feet track that soapy shower water all over the floor in the main room. It’s just plain stupid.
I digress…
The reason I travel is to experience differences, but many MANY times those differences have left me desperately wanting my own home, my own bed, my own bathroom, my own kitchen, my own culture. Which isn’t entirely a bad thing, realizing just how much I enjoy my “regular” life, learning to recognize and appreciate the usually mundane details.
More times than I can count, the inside of my head has screamed, “What am I doing here?!” But the moments of enjoyment and wonder far outweigh all the complaints.
And since nobody wants to hear about the parts of travel that suck, those of us who indulge our itchy feet learn to either keep our trials and tribulations silent, or if they’re worthy enough complaints we turn them into glossy tales that somehow sound exciting, even though they weren’t. Which, funnily enough, is exactly what happens in our own brains; given enough time the tough parts tend to fade away, or somehow become exotic and romantic, hence Steve’s sage advice to me.
. . .
Present time, January 16: My first day in India. I’m a relatively seasoned traveler, and I’ve been repeatedly warned about the unique challenges in this country. I’m ready. I arrive at my hotel around noon, not having slept in nearly 48 hours and I can’t sleep now or I’ll be ruined. I’m hungry, a little bored, and anxious to explore, plus, I need to keep moving so I don’t fall asleep. I envision myself checking out the neighbourhood, discovering a cozy coffee shop or a sweet market, having an awesome meal, then telling my friends all about it when they show up around 6pm.
The guy at the front desk points me in the right direction and I head out. Almost immediately a pretty girl of about 12 trots to my side and starts chattering at me, not unpleasantly, but her eyes are pleading. I can’t understand her words, but I know she wants money or food or both. A man appears at my side and warns me in English not to give her anything, because as soon as I do every child in the vicinity will show up for a handout. Hmm. Ok.
The man asks me where I’m from and how I’m doing and what I’m looking for. He’s not pushy, but he’s completely unshakeable, and the Canadian in me is far too polite to speak sternly, or simply *gasp* ignore him. Sigh. The girl, behind the man’s back, catches my eye and shakes her head in a gesture that clearly means I shouldn’t accept any help from him. Right. Ok…
So they are quietly warning me about each other, and it would be comical if I weren’t so overwhelmed. I’ve been “exploring” for about 6 minutes, on a quiet street, and I’m this >-< close to turning and running.
Instead, I forge ahead, other men calling out questions and offering assistance, the first man and girl sticking to my side like glue, a second girl joining my unwanted posse.. I’ve gone about three blocks. I really want some authentic food from a street stall sizzling nearby, but more than that I want to be rid of all the attention. So I duck into a shiny red and black restaurant that has a big glass door, and flop into the first booth. There are seven tables and five staff members, which seems like overkill – I soon discover this is commonplace: even the six by four foot stall selling shoes on the street has four guys who are eager to spend 20 minutes helping you try on 20 different styles – which is kind of awesome customer service, if you can get past the total overwhelm.
I order and eat, painfully aware that I have no idea how to do so properly or politely. There are too many little bowls and plates, there’s only a single utensil, a spoon. I just get on with it and the servers try to keep their staring discreet.
I feel better and step outside to continue my exploration. Immediately the man and two girls pop up and begin trotting along at my elbows. I deflate.
The girls hustle me toward a tiny stall filled with packaged snack food. I’m bewildered and completely unsure what to do. The stall-keeper asks if I’m going to purchase them something. He looks at me with nonchalant disapproval, which seems contradictory but is another thing I soon encounter all over the place. Even if they think it’s a bad idea, Indians are too polite to tell you not to do it, they just look at you with that peculiar expression, which makes you second-guess even your most confident decisions. The guy manning the desk at my hotel did it to me repeatedly during my stay, and it made me want to shake him and demand that he give me some sound and definitive advice, because damn it, that’s his job! Instead, he just kept agreeing to whatever it was that he thought I thought I wanted…
Anyway, the shopkeeper is looking at me, the girls are bouncing in expectation, and there is a gaggle of other spectators waiting to see what the white girl is going to do.
I turn and walk away rapidly, trying not to hyperventilate.
I go straight back to the hotel, trying and failing to fend off any more attention or questions. My outing lasted less than an hour. I’ve been in India for less than three hours, and I’m bordering on panic.
I tell myself I’ll never be able to navigate my way through these streets. That I’ve made a horrible mistake in coming here, wasted my time and money. I replay Steve’s advice and wonder what stories I’ll be able to salvage, or create, for those at home, who expect tales of grand adventures…
I spend the next five or so hours locked in the hotel. My friends finally arrive. The one who’s previously been to India chastises me for going out alone, which increases my anxiety and makes me a little bit angry. We eat. They talk. After 51 hours I finally lay down in bed to sleep, hoping Day 2 is better.
by McKinnleyWho wants to do something every day that scares them? Not me!!!! Doing scary things is, well, scary, and I’m not really a fan of being put in unpredictable situations. I like to be in control. I enjoy activities more if I have a pretty good idea of how they’re going to progress. I don’t like feeling nervous, uncomfortable or stupid.
However, I am a big proponent of trying new things, I mean, what’s better than a good old fashioned adventure?! I may not like doing something scary, but I adore doing things that are exciting.
And yes, adventures, new things and excitement often mean stepping a teeny tiny bit outside of my comfort zone. But that’s cool, you know why? Because even if I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, with heart pounding, adrenaline pumping and my stomach slightly nauseous, I know that once I jump, the rush is going to be unbelievable and totally worth the moment of discomfort.
Do you know what happens when you put yourself on that edge every once in awhile? Not only do you usually end up with a sweet adrenaline rush and a sick story to tell, but you learn a little something about yourself, you expand your views of the world, and sometimes you end up truly surprised by the outcome and where that adventure leads you.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of a night spent on the couch, in my comfy pants, with a bowl of popcorn and my kitty purring nearby, while I get into a few episodes of Dexter, but those nights do nothing to help me grow.
If you really want to expand your world, and who you are as a person, you have to DO. Try new things, and make it a point to do old things that you love but avoid for some reason. Want an awesome, inspiring example of how to do this? Check out Matt Cutts’ TED Talk “Try Something New For 30 Days.” It will be the best 3:47 minutes you’ve spent in awhile: http://www.ted.com/talks/matt_cutts_try_something_new_for_30_days.html
See? I told you! Amazing, right?! Even if you’re not feeling ambitious enough to do something for 30 days in a row, tell yourself you’re going to DO at least one adventurous thing every 30 days. Choose your adventure challenge, then set a specific date (this is important!) and whatever happens, do NOT let yourself wiggle out of it. You’ll be surprised at how you feel afterwards: excited, definitely, but you’ll also likely feel some pride, accomplishment and a desire for more.
So instead of following the old adage “Do one thing every day that scares you,” go ahead and avoid the scary stuff, just head straight for all those things that excite you!
by McKinnleyHere’s a little secret: Nobody is ever 100% ready or prepared. Those who succeed, however, are the people who are willing to say YES, and run with the opportunities as they present themselves.
I’ve talked about having my own business for quite awhile now. A few years ago as I chatted with my massage therapist during a session, she got really excited and told me about this program she was putting together, and asked if I’d like to offer my business as part of the reward pack! Amazing!!! What a huge opportunity being simply handed to me.
I even had an entire month to get my stuff together. But at the time, I had no “business” per se, just an idea. I had no website, no business cards, no outline of what I would even offer. Instead of jumping off that freaking massage table and getting to work, I hummed and hawed, I made excuses, and in the end I convinced myself that there simply wasn’t enough time to do it “right,” and that it clearly wasn’t the right opportunity for me or it would have come at a more convenient moment.
*snort!* Oh boy, have I learned differently. Anybody who is successful in any area of their life will tell you that the opportunities that got them where they are did NOT, in fact, show up at the most opportune times. The only difference, is that they said, “Absolutely,” when something was offered to them, and they worked their butts off to make it happen. Were they totally freaked out? Yup. Pretty much every one of those people will openly admit to being somewhere between really nervous and totally terrified, BUT THEY DID IT ANYWAY.
Huh. How ‘bout that. So, what if I’d say “yeehaw!” to that business offer I’d had? By now I would have that experience under my belt. I’d have figured out and implemented some sort of game plan. Maybe it was exactly what I wanted to do and it went off without a hitch, and I’d be 5 years further along that career path. Or maybe it didn’t turn out the way I’d have liked and I shifted gears, and then I’d be 5 years further along a different career path. Regardless, I would have done something, headed somewhere, and who knows where that opportunity would have led.
by McKinnley