A solo traveler's blog

  I grew up thinking I was supposed to become someone. Not just a person, an important person. Get good grades. Get into a good school. Get a good job. Become good at something. And then, if I really played my cards right, I’d get a house, a car, maybe a balcony with plants I’d forget to water, and enough money to pretend I was fulfilled. That was the idea, anyway. And to be fair, I did a decent job of following the script. I studied hard. I earned degrees. I got a PhD, for God’s sake. I did the thing. And for a while, that made me feel like I mattered. Like I was building something real. Like I was someone. Then I found myself walking alone on a dusty road in some remote part of South-East Asia, wearing a sweaty T-shirt, a broken flip-flop, and the sudden realization that no one cares. Not in a rude way. Just… genuinely, absolutely, beautifully indifferent. The guy selling grilled bananas didn’t ask about my thesis topic. The woman stirring soup into plastic bags didn’t blink at m...