It's Getting Real

So today it really began to hit me.

Tomorrow will be exactly one week before I get on that plane for Thailand, and how different that will be is really starting to sink in. I've been telling myself that I've done the international travel thing before, and that I shouldn't be worried, but just the same, I have a healthy amount of trepidation about the trip.

In particular, I can't decide whether or not I want something else to do, so that I could at least feel like I'm taking substantive steps to prepare for this voyage. I've learned a bare minimum amount of Thai from Rosetta Stone, I've been working out (though not nearly as much as I could be, honestly), and I've been trying to wean myself from unsustainable hobbies, such as playing video games or watching TV. In fact, it strikes me as I write this that due to the nature of my project, all the important preparations come in the form of altercations to myself.

I don't actually plan to travel with very much, as one of my goals is to try to simplify my life for the next few months, and so there's not much to pack or to buy, no more equipment or travel-aids to acquire, no more bureaucracy or paperwork to trudge through, and I have only my own abilities to work on. On some level, this strikes me as rather beautiful; I've always appreciated tasks that require ability over equipment, but at the same time, it's really quite a responsibility.

As I sit here tonight at my parents' kitchen table, drinking filtered water in a large, air-conditioned room, I notice my distinct lack of bruises or soreness, my confidence and comfort with my surroundings, and perhaps most of all, my certainty that I am able to communicate with everyone around me. I know that at this moment, were I hungry, I could walk out my door, and without even troubling myself for a car I could walk to several places that would receive me without effort or comment on my part or theirs. In theory, I will be able to do the same thing eight days from now, but I know from previous experience that when in Rome, it's a different city if you aren't a Roman.

I think that what really makes the difference is the language barrier, which is only problematic because it rather debilitatingly undermines one's confidence. If I were to fly to San Fransico tomorrow, I wouldn't know the city any better than I'll know Phuket, but I know that I can ask whatever questions are necessary in a manner that won't cause any feeling of estrangement between myself and the person I'm asking. Perhaps this is just a personal impression, but in most American cities that I have visited, being from out of town, particularly from the Mid-West, is received most often as a charming bit of color to my situation or mannerisms. Even for those less inclined to appreciate the flyover country, it is certainly not awkward or problematic, just noteworthy and perhaps amusing that I come from those miniature cities for damaged people.

In foreign countries, however, this seems to be different. While I have no real fear that I will alienate the Thai by being from America, the lack of a shared language, and the fact of my undeniable foreignness, has proven in the past to be something of a stumbling block. This slight level of awkwardness amplifies my reluctance to go down to the grocery store, or to eat out in a restaurant. It makes it seem slightly fearful to go for a walk, lest I be asked for directions, or even hailed by a friendly passerby in an attempt to start a conversation.

In the past, as I'm sure everyone reading this can assume, the greatest rewards were of course gained from immersing myself in those slightly awkward social situations, and no doubt it is the first major struggle of living abroad to just jump in. I'm sure that when the time comes, necessity will step in where courage falters, but for now I'm just sitting in a comfortable room, rather savoring the notion that I speak a language that these walls are used to hearing.

Ah well, to bed now; ambition is for the morning.