Earlier this year, I went on a long road trip and, after a few hundred miles, I stopped at a gas station, a massive one with row after row of gas pumps, cars and people pulsing through, crowded on this holiday weekend. I got my gas and left.
The next morning, after a pleasant night camped out in a wooded state park, I headed another couple hours south before realizing that I needed more gas. I’d put about 500 miles between me and that last gas station. The wonders of driving a Prius.
It was when the gas pump requested my credit card that I first realized that something was wrong. The card should have been in my wallet. The wallet should have been in my purse. But the purse, shockingly light, only held my chapstick and an extra scrunchie.
I tore through the car. Under the mattress I had custom fit for the back, under the seats, in other bags and compartments.
No luck. No wallet.
The last time I had used it, the last time I recalled holding it in my hand, was at that gas station the morning before. So many miles away.
I could feel the panic rising in my throat. How would I find my wallet again? Would this ruin my entire two-week trip–it was only the second day! How could I even buy gas here to go search for the wallet if didn’t have the wallet!?
I listened to my shock, fear, disappointment, frustration, and I took a deep breath. I counted the things I could see, hear, feel, smell. Noted the taste of the tea in my thermos. And then I formulated a plan.
If you have not memorized all the important numbers from your main debit or credit card, I recommend it. I was able to put them into my phone and presto, ApplePay bought my gas. The previous gas station didn’t have a phone number or any way to contact it online, due to corporate nonsense.
And so I ate my lunch. Put on some good music. And started the long drive north.
What I eventually learned was that magically, miraculously, someone had discovered and turned in my wallet the day before. I still had to backtrack 500 miles, but I was able to restart my trip, now a couple days behind.
I was grateful for the way my error was resolved; things could have been a lot worse. But I was most grateful for how I responded when things went wrong.
When I was younger, I traveled plenty. Every summer while in college I took part in some overseas program or backpacking trip with friends. And always, inevitably, something would go wrong.
This trend continued as I aged and became a park ranger who also traveled. I missed trains, slept nights in airports, lost luggage, had cars that wouldn’t start. I thought I was cursed.
And I broke. Each time something went wrong while traveling, I would shatter into a thousand pieces. I’ve had emotional breakdowns on train platforms, at airport claims desks, over the phone to rental car receptionists.
Travel for me was always underpinned with anxiety. I loved it, but I remained tense, always waiting for the next accident to happen.
And then I had a revelation. That’s how travel works. There wasn’t anything particular to me or my plans that made them fail. The only law of travel is that something will always go wrong.
And we can crumble when the inevitable happens. Or we can watch it unfold, like the Elizabethan tragedy it is, and keep moving. Roll with the changes.
But how do we do that? For me, a ton of therapy and a lot of emotional healing has taught me how to get emotional distance from people and events. Now, instead of reacting immediately like I used to, I stop and think. It has made all the difference.
Being able to step back emotionally and watch things happen is a gift. To pause before you react. To see things for what they are, and not be driven by emotion but guided by it. To be able to navigate the chaos of travel and of life with clarity.
I recently encountered someone who tried to piss me off. I watched her fume and heard her say mean things. But rather than react, I paused.
I thought about what she was doing–trying to pick a fight because of something going on within her. I realized that I didn’t have the energy to deal with her and join in her anger. So I just nodded and ignored her. And it went away. The steam went out of her; there was no argument.
Now, I’m not saying to invalidate people’s feelings. I’m not saying to disassociate from reality. I’m saying that there is a moment, if you can find it, when you get to choose how to react to things.
Your emotions can drive you, and sometimes you will let them. Sometimes we all let them. Sometimes we need to have a cry about it. That is good, that is wise at times.
But when these times come, it needs to be our choice. Always our choice.
And the choice is this: do we let the emotions out a bit, vent or feel or stand up for ourselves? Or do we think: that seems like a lot of work, getting all upset over this thing that someone said or this misfortune that happened. I think I’ll just enjoy my trip instead.
For me, when I give myself that nanosecond to pause, I find that I choose the latter option more often than not.
That’s what I did that day when I lost my wallet. And, when I finally got to rest that night, in a hotel hundreds of miles from where I had intended to be, my wallet hugged to my chest like a security blanket, I was able to smile. Not just because of the joy of having a wallet again, but because I had, for the first time maybe ever, in all of my travels, not lost myself along the journey.