For the first time in over a week, I felt fully at ease. Taking a stroll through my neighborhood in Milan, I watched the setting sunlight slowly crawl to the tops of the buildings, everyone leisurely walking home or getting dinner, dogs wandering around patches of grass for a quick bathroom break.
The truth is that since I had arrived in Milan, I had felt unsettled. My first few days here were shrouded in constant anxiety, fretting over even the simplest things that I would normally not even think twice about. My mind was on high alert, unable to distinguish between catastrophe and inconvenience. I questioned whether my two-month stint in Europe was a big mistake, whether I should abandon all of my careful planning and take the next flight back home.
Within the first hour of arriving in Milan (more than a week ago at this point), my dad’s passport and phone were stolen from his pocket. What was supposed to be the end of a beautiful family vacation became a turbulent and stressful crash landing. After a trip to the Apple store, two visits to the U.S. Consulate, hundreds of dollars spent, and a few emotionally demanding days, my dad was able to get an emergency passport and return to the United States. It ended up being not as bad as it initially seemed, but the shock of it all had still rattled me.
While I was on my walk today, finally feeling comfortable in this foreign city, I realized that my heightened anxiety over the course of the past week was not unfounded. I came to the conclusion that I was processing the aftermath of a traumatic event and doing it in a place that was unfamiliar and in many ways different from home. I asked myself: how would I have felt if my phone and wallet were stolen in Philadelphia? Surely I wouldn’t have just shrugged it off and went about my business. I would—as anyone would—have naturally become more paranoid, even if it happened in a place that was fully familiar to me like Philly.
I had spent the past week thinking of ways to combat my anxiety: breathing exercises, questioning assumptions, triple checking that my wallet, phone, keys, and passport were right where they were supposed to be. But despite my best efforts, the only thing that could truly alleviate my relentless worrying was time. I needed some wins under my belt, some small indicators that told me, “You CAN do this.” With each day that passed, I had a new reason to show that things weren’t going to be so bad, and more importantly, it would get easier. As it turns out, the second time going to an Italian supermarket is easier than the first.
Familiarity and comfortability are things that need to be earned—not with hard work or effort, but with time. There is no speedy path towards comfortability. You learn and adapt. You make mistakes. You feel discomfort first. And at the end of the day, I needed to be reminded that this was the whole reason for going on this trip. To leave my “comfort” zone. To experience discomfort. To look at myself in the mirror and ask, “Who are you, really, when nothing else is left and you are alone?”
I don’t yet have an answer to that question, but I am on my way towards figuring that out. Because in the same way that it takes time to settle into a new place, it takes time to settle into yourself, each day offering a new clue.
So pick up the clues, one by one, patiently and prudently, and be.
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For the first time in over a week, I felt fully at ease. Taking a stroll through my neighborhood in Milan, I watched the setting sunlight slowly crawl to the tops of the buildings, everyone leisurely walking home or getting dinner, dogs wandering around patches of grass for a quick bathroom break.
The truth is that since I had arrived in Milan, I had felt unsettled. My first few days here were shrouded in constant anxiety, fretting over even the simplest things that I would normally not even think twice about. My mind was on high alert, unable to distinguish between catastrophe and inconvenience. I questioned whether my two-month stint in Europe was a big mistake, whether I should abandon all of my careful planning and take the next flight back home.
Within the first hour of arriving in Milan (more than a week ago at this point), my dad’s passport and phone were stolen from his pocket. What was supposed to be the end of a beautiful family vacation became a turbulent and stressful crash landing. After a trip to the Apple store, two visits to the U.S. Consulate, hundreds of dollars spent, and a few emotionally demanding days, my dad was able to get an emergency passport and return to the United States. It ended up being not as bad as it initially seemed, but the shock of it all had still rattled me.
While I was on my walk today, finally feeling comfortable in this foreign city, I realized that my heightened anxiety over the course of the past week was not unfounded. I came to the conclusion that I was processing the aftermath of a traumatic event and doing it in a place that was unfamiliar and in many ways different from home. I asked myself: how would I have felt if my phone and wallet were stolen in Philadelphia? Surely I wouldn’t have just shrugged it off and went about my business. I would—as anyone would—have naturally become more paranoid, even if it happened in a place that was fully familiar to me like Philly.
I had spent the past week thinking of ways to combat my anxiety: breathing exercises, questioning assumptions, triple checking that my wallet, phone, keys, and passport were right where they were supposed to be. But despite my best efforts, the only thing that could truly alleviate my relentless worrying was time. I needed some wins under my belt, some small indicators that told me, “You CAN do this.” With each day that passed, I had a new reason to show that things weren’t going to be so bad, and more importantly, it would get easier. As it turns out, the second time going to an Italian supermarket is easier than the first.
Familiarity and comfortability are things that need to be earned—not with hard work or effort, but with time. There is no speedy path towards comfortability. You learn and adapt. You make mistakes. You feel discomfort first. And at the end of the day, I needed to be reminded that this was the whole reason for going on this trip. To leave my “comfort” zone. To experience discomfort. To look at myself in the mirror and ask, “Who are you, really, when nothing else is left and you are alone?”
I don’t yet have an answer to that question, but I am on my way towards figuring that out. Because in the same way that it takes time to settle into a new place, it takes time to settle into yourself, each day offering a new clue.
So pick up the clues, one by one, patiently and prudently, and be.
