“You’re going to Mexico?”
A couple of friends asked this before I left, in the tone of voice one might use responding to hearing of travel plans to Moscow (or maybe Gaza), not Mexico.
My husband and I recently returned from a lovely beach vacation in Tulum, located an hour from Cancun, with our grown daughter and her husband. (Not all my travels are solo!) Upon our return my parents asked how it was, and despite my descriptions of an idyllic, restful week at an all-inclusive resort, they ended the conversation with “well, we’re glad you didn’t get robbed.”
Another friend mentioned something about kidnappings.
What?
I did a little online research (after my trip) and found that indeed, many states within Mexico (but not the Yucatan, where we were) are included in travel advisories from the U.S. State Department, urging extreme caution or even avoidance altogether. Apparently, violence, kidnappings and drug cartel conflicts are making some parts of Mexico a little dicey these days.
But Mexico is a big place, varied place. It’s a large country with a variety of situations. Just as my home city, Chicago, offers a vastly different experience in one corner than it might in another, a place as large as Mexico is not all one thing.
We stayed at a Hilton all-inclusive (using points! Yay!), in a small resort town. The property is gated and quite secure, and the town of Tulum, an ancient Mayan city, is considered one of the safer places to visit in Mexico.
We even ventured into the town—riding a public transport option called a colectivo, which is a shared 15-passenger van that you simply flag down along the highway. (I know—what was I thinking? I was thinking of the experience, and that the concierge assured us it was safe and much cheaper than a cab.)
Travel is not without risk. But wise, carefully planned and considered travel can make us brave. As we jump into 2024 here at Welcoming and Wandering, I’m selecting a theme for each month. And January’s theme? Brave. Because I think wandering (and welcoming, as you’ll see next week) makes us braver.
We’re all a little anxious
When I was in my 30s, I remember feeling scared a lot of the time. A brand-new parent, I wanted to do it “right” and that pressure felt overwhelming. There were so many ways these vulnerable little people could get hurt, or I could mess them up. I read dozens of parenting books, but they all seemed to contradict one another. My anxiety manifested as catastrophizing. Every time my husband was late (which was often) I assumed he’d been in a wreck. I worried I would die, even though I was healthy. I fretted that if I didn’t say the right words and teach my children the right things, they’d turn out wrong, somehow. (They are fine now, by the way.) I just remember feeling worried and scared a lot of the time. And sometimes, that anxiety fermented into anger. Life with small children wasn’t exactly what I expected.
I’m not sure when this began to change. Maybe by simply getting through parenting my children, I became a more confident parent. I did go to therapy, which helped immensely. I also began to understand what self-care looked like.
Once the kids were in school, once a month, I took myself to Chicago—to a museum, a park, or a neighborhood with thrift shops—to simply wander on my own. Some of my fellow suburbanite moms called this “brave.” It did feel a bit daring, exploring the Art Institute and Millennium Park on my own, riding the Blue Line to the Loop. But it made me braver. Each trip to the city, every adventure, replaced a little of that anxiety with confidence.
I sometimes traveled for work, to speak at events and retreats. I began adding a day to those business trips to explore on my own. I remember trips to Seattle, the Texas hill country, and other places. By wandering, I became braver. I got more comfortable traveling solo. After one speaking gig, I stayed for a few days in Pacific Grove, California, by myself, to work on a book I was writing. That trip was a turning point. I stayed by myself in a little motel, worked in coffee shops during the day, walked along the shore admiring the ice plant in bloom. By traveling brave, I got braver.
Do hard things
How can we overcome fear? How can we live courageously? A key strategy for building courage and confidence is simply this: do hard things, and if you must, do them scared. I’m not talking about taking foolhardy risks. But there are many things that we refuse to do which actually aren’t quite as scary as we make them out to be. And when we do them, we grow. We get stronger, braver, better.
I’ve found that when I feel fear but “do it scared,” I get braver. The more I travel, the less frightening travel becomes. I get to experience the transformative effects of travel because I am willing to be just a little bit brave. One of those “transformative effects”? it makes us into the kind of people who don’t let fear control them.
Many of us fear aging, but here’s what no one tells you: the wisdom of years can make us braver. We’ve done things and survived, we’ve experienced struggle and prevailed. These very things make us stronger and braver—in a way that only happens when we’ve been around a while.
Susan Jeffers classic book, Feel the Fear… and Do It Anyway, offers similar advice. I love her subtitle: Dynamic Techniques for Turning Fear, Indecision, and Anger into Power, Action, and Love.
Read that subtitle again. Do you feel “fear, indecision, and anger”?
We feel uncertain and even angry, and we don’t know why—it’s often our fear that holds us captive. When we think we cannot do something, but do it anyway, we increase our capacity to do that very thing.
Remember jumping off the high dive when you were a kid? I remember the first time I ventured up that endlessly tall ladder and inched out on that springy, uncertain surface. I stood long enough that the lifeguard tweeted his whistle and motioned me to either jump or retreat, but stop holding up the line.
Photo by Steve DiMatteo: https://www.pexels.com/
I held my nose, closed my eyes, and leapt. And didn’t die. In fact, I experienced the thrill of falling through space, slicing through the cool water, and resurfacing with a singular thought: I did it! I’m brave!
After a few rounds of this, the high dive was no longer that scary. I eventually even learned to dive headfirst rather than jump off feet first. But I couldn’t be brave enough to do that unless I took that first, hard step.
Travel brave
A friend recently told me, “You’re so brave,” referring to my solo travel a few months ago to Chamonix. (You can read about it here.) It was not my first solo travel experience, but it was my longest, and perhaps one I’ve talked more about. She’s not the only one who told me I was brave, bad-ass or just crazy.
I told this friend, who is bold and confident, that she could do the same. “I wouldn’t even get on the plane, I’d be panicking,” she said.
Maybe. But here’s the thing: if you want to be brave, travel is a great way to become it.
Travel of any kind, solo or not, makes us brave. Because it makes us vulnerable—it does entail some risk. But when we walk boldly through that, we realize we’re still here, we have survived and actually become stronger.
I smiled like this the whole time I traveled in France.
Some of us expend too much energy avoiding risk. We don’t know the secret: we could become braver people, if we’d only step off that diving board and just jump.
Travel is like jumping off the high dive. It But makes us better—it helps us understand the world, makes us more empathetic, and less fearful. It improves us, and our society. I honestly think if every person had the opportunity to take one overseas trip, to experience another culture, the world would be a better place. We would not fear “the other” and let that drive our collective bus.
If you can’t afford to travel overseas (although again—using points will take you far—I flew to France using points), even just tip-toeing out of your comfort zone to a nearby city can be transformative.
When friends tell me I’m “brave” I assume that they also want to be braver, bolder, more courageous. But not everyone is willing to do what it takes to become brave—which is to face your fear, to do hard things. Some of us think we would rather stay safe, but staying safe is an illusion. What you stay is small, and scared. You were made for more than that.
Start where you are
I live near Chicago—which has a reputation as a bit of a dangerous city. Which is unfortunate because it is a beautiful, vibrant city with world class restaurants, museums, shops. (Yes, a few neighborhoods you should probably avoid—but plenty of safe, amazing places to explore.) Like any big city, you have to be aware of your surroundings. Don’t wander around looking lost. Walk purposefully and keep your wits about you.
So maybe, take a baby step of brave: visit a city, or even a state park or neighborhood that’s unfamiliar. Go there yourself, or with a friend. Just go for the day. If an international solo travel trip feels like too much, what doesn’t feel like too much? What’s just one step outside your comfort zone, rather than a mile outside of it?
Why do this? Because playing small is no way to really live. Would you prefer to live in fear, indecision, and anger? Or would you maybe want to tap into power, action, and love?
P.S. I’ve actually co-written a book about overcoming fear, called Live Like a Guide Dog, which will release this summer. It’s available for pre-order now on amazon. Click to order your copy!
I loved this inspirational post. It was a bit convicting, I must confess. By the way, my all time favorite place is Pacific Grove.
I love this post so much that I'm saving it so I can quote it in a fun project I'm working on.
I agree that travel makes us braver. During my first overseas trip, with a friend, I discovered that I wanted to get out and about earlier than she did. Instead of letting it frustrate me, I decided to venture out to a coffee shop we'd passed the day before. It meant crossing a London street by myself with low vision, but I knew it would be good for me. So when I saw a pair of moms heading in the same direction while walking their daughters to school, I casually followed them and crossed the street when they did. By the time I sat down with my latte, having not only walked to the coffee shop alone but also ordered without being able to read the wall menu and paid in Pounds, I felt like I could do anything. Walking to a coffee place became my regular routine during that trip. If felt amazing, and my friend enjoyed knowing she would wake up to a latte.