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Illustration by Nijah Smith
Romanticizing your life is what social media is all about. It’s up to us – the main characters in our own posts – to project hope, gratitude and positivity in everything we display.
Believe me when I say that when it came to romanticizing life, I was a modern day Casanova. There was no glitzy restaurant, overpriced latte or tourist destination that was off limits. I posed in front of the Eiffel Tower, threw a coin in the Trevi Fountain and rode a camel around the pyramids of Egypt all while demonstrating that I was living my best life. Little did I know that my favourite personal mantra would soon become a dead weight just yearning to be shed.
This summer, I decided to travel differently than I ever had before. I’d spent a lifetime enjoying travel with family, friends and my spouse, but I’d long wondered what it would be like to explore a new location alone. I admired solo travellers for their bravery and sense of independence.
I booked a solo flight to Portugal. Staying in Lisbon for the week, I had planned a few activities but wanted to keep an open schedule. I wanted time that was truly mine. Mine to waste if I wanted, or to do whatever I felt like in the moment. I didn’t want anyone dictating when to wake up, what sights I should see or how to best utilize my days. This trip was meant to be a crash course in radical self-love, selfishness and independence.
However, my solo week in Portugal wasn’t exactly what I expected. I was constantly homesick for my husband and my big, fluffy cat. I often felt overstimulated when I went out, unable to truly enjoy the sights and sounds of such a wonderful city. And then, I ended up sick and bedridden for two days. In the evenings, alone in my hotel room, I would count down the hours until I would be on a plane back home. Did I get a couple good days of sunshine and sightseeing? Sure. Did I also realize that solo travel probably wasn’t going to be a hobby of mine going forward? Resoundingly yes. Although my Instagram posts boasted impressive European views and charming cityscapes, they failed to portray the reality – that my trip was not perfect or anywhere close to what I had in mind.
While this realization was fine on its own, when I got home, describing the experience to others proved difficult. I found myself offering vague comments on the balmy weather or picturesque scenery to avoid sharing the full truth, that my trip wasn’t entirely enjoyable. After all, I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Travel in any capacity is a privilege. And the image I projected on social media had been all fun, all the time.
So, why the incongruency? Why did it feel so taboo to have an imperfect experience? Why was I so hard-wired to turn every negative into a positive? Although the quest to pull meaning (and inspiring social-media stories) out of even the most mundane of experiences is admirable, it almost seems to border on toxic positivity. To me, being truly human means taking the bad with the good, not wrapping it in a neat little bow and presenting it as a gift.
Having returned from my solo excursion a few months ago, I’m coming to the realization that being overstimulated while travelling is okay, having a bad day is normal and imperfect experiences are what life is made of. There’s peace in accepting things for what they are and being honest about it, and, no, it doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful. My solo trip may not have been exactly what I was hoping for, but it was exactly what I needed. Now, when I scroll through Instagram, I remember that each picture-perfect post doesn’t always show the full reality.
I haven’t stopped living with imagination and wonder, but I’m now more mindful of society’s pressure to romanticize all aspects of my life, and to put that version on display. I’ve come to understand that my problems (and even my achievements) are not so significant in the grand scheme of life, and that in itself is a huge relief.
Being the main character in your life is important, but so is telling the whole story.
Alissa Mohammed lives in Toronto.