I Thought Traveling Would Fix Me. It Didn’t.

My First Solo Trip Abroad: Searching for Something More in Jordan

In 2016, at 19 years old, I booked my first solo trip to Jordan.

At the time, I was going through a breakup, failing my college classes, living off credit cards, struggling with my mental health, and drinking more than I should have. I had reached a pretty low point. But the one bright spot I had going for me was the only class I was actually passing: my Middle Eastern Politics class.

And I wasn’t just passing this notoriously difficult class. I was genuinely fascinated by the material. I was engaged, interested, and finished the semester with an A.

I became fascinated by the history, culture, and landscapes of a region that, at the time, most people in the United States only seemed to associate with the Iraq War. My professor was from Turkey, and she was the first person I met who spoke about the region with warmth and appreciation rather than focusing only on conflict. She opened my eyes to a part of the world I realized I knew very little about. We were assigned to watch Lawrence of Arabia, and I knew I needed to see Wadi Rum with my own eyes.

I was not in the best spot mentally, and I decided I really didn’t have anything else to lose at that point. So I decided to book the trip. I obviously didn’t have the money for this, but I had seen a cliche quote somewhere online that said something to the effect of “you will either have the time or the money. But rarely both at the same time.” I knew I had the time in college, and I convinced myself that I would have the money in a few years to pay it off, so I (stupidly) decided to put it all on credit cards. I told myself that was a “future-me” problem. And it sure was. But that’s a story for another time.

In the weeks leading up to my flight I was being sent news articles by my family and friends about the most recent terrorist attacks and “sarcastic but not” questions about who my cat and possessions should be willed to.

But I wasn’t really nervous. And for all intents and purposes I should have been. It was my first ever international trip, I was not going to have cell service or internet access outside of free Wi-Fi at my hostels, and I was travelling alone as a 19 year old woman. In fact I was kind of numb, a reflection of the severity of my depression at that time.

I was just following a spark I had felt in a classroom and seen on a screen, hoping that I would find some hope in the future, that there was something bigger out there.

And when I saw the clusters of Amman street lights from the airplane window, when I walked through the ancient streets of Petra, when I floated in the Dead Sea, when a Bedouin taught me to drive stick-shift in the desert, when I wandered through a quiet olive grove, and when I gazed out at the expansive Wadi Rum sand dunes, I found it.

I found a perspective that I didn’t have before. I was able to get out of my bubble and shock my mind with new experiences and senses. When I returned from my trip, I came back with motivation to change my situation and insight into what I could achieve in the future.

Looking back, I now realize Jordan didn’t fix me either. It just interrupted my life long enough for me to see that there was more to the world than the small corner I felt trapped in. The problem was that I confused a change in perspective with healing.

Why Traveling Didn’t Fix My Mental Health

So it’s no surprise that in 2018, when my mental health reached an actual all-time low, I thought the answer was another big trip.

This time, I wasn’t just struggling in school. I was failing out of college. My anxiety was paralyzing. I was having panic attacks and struggling to function.

I thought that because traveling to Jordan had helped me before, another solo trip would do the same thing.

Surely traveling through Turkey, Israel/Palestine, Egypt, and Greece for a month would pull me out of this.

Oh, how wrong I was.

In the weeks leading up to this trip, I was an anxious wreck. I couldn’t sleep because I was constantly thinking about everything that could go wrong.

Halfway through my flight to Turkey, I had another quiet breakdown. I was terrified I would get kidnapped, lose my credit cards, or get lost. I convinced myself that as soon as I landed, I was going to book a flight home.

My boyfriend at the time talked me through it over the phone after I landed and convinced me to continue with my plans.

But the anxiety followed me.

I spent Christmas Day in my hostel bed in Bethlehem because I convinced myself I would get lost if I left. While staying in Greece, I noticed my Airbnb didn’t have carbon monoxide detectors and became so scared that I wouldn’t let myself fall asleep. I spent an entire day traveling to a town near Ephesus, only to get too anxious to complete the final thirty minutes because I was afraid I would get lost. I spent another day inside my hostel in Jerusalem because I couldn’t convince myself to go outside. Eventually, I cancelled the Egypt portion of my trip because I became convinced I was going to get kidnapped.

What was so confusing to me at the time was that I was doing the thing that I thought had once made me feel alive. I was flying in a hot air balloon through the fairy chimneys in Cappadocia, petting cats in the Istanbul streets, and hiking across Mykonos on a beautiful day. But I couldn’t fully enjoy any of it because I had brought my own mind with me.

I had spent so much time thinking that my circumstances were the problem. If I could just leave, if I could just go somewhere new, if I could just have another life experience, then I would finally feel better. But I was learning that you can cross oceans and still carry the same fears with you.

When I look back on this trip now, what I remember most isn’t Cappadocia or Mykonos. It’s how I felt.

Anxious, disappointed in myself, and scared.

I realized that, despite all the romanticized stories online about finding yourself through travel and despite the perspective Jordan had given me, travelling was never going to fix my mental health. I was still me at the end of the day. The same fears, insecurities, and anxiety that existed at home had simply come along for the trip. And if anything, this trip highlighted just how badly I needed to get help.

I booked my first therapy session when I returned.

I’ve traveled solo many times since then, and I eventually did make it to Egypt. But I no longer travel with the expectation that a new country will create a new version of myself. Travel can open your eyes, challenge your assumptions, and remind you how big the world is. But you still have to come home to yourself.

I don’t travel now to escape my life. I travel because I love experiencing it. Not to become someone else, but to experience more of the person I already am.