Is there any other kind of vacation?

I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.

-Louisa May Alcott

“I think this might be my last crazy trip.”

This was how I framed my excursion to Rwanda while talking to a co-worker just prior to departure a few weeks back. It was not so much a definitive statement, but more a suggestion born out of ridiculous insecurity about what I was intending to do.  Again.

Whenever I’m humming in the rhythm of a 9 to 5 job, I find comfort in hazarding only modest deviations from the norm.  Spending time and money to visit a faraway place raises eyebrows in the office, and to tell them that I’m going with a near stranger as my sole travel partner—all the while keeping an eye on the status of the region’s tenuous stability— it does sort of sound improbable. Who does that? And more importantly, who does that at the age of 37?

I dunno how this will go, but here goes nothing…

I guess in the moments after planning this outing I had begun to lose a little confidence. Confidence in the fact that I already have a track record for exploring new places with a high degree of success. Of course I’d be able to pull this thing off again with no serious hiccups—but still, at the same, self-doubt is something that I tangle with on a regular basis.

Ever since I was a kid I have struggled to trust that I am on solid footing and should therefore trust in my own capabilities. A microcosm of this sentiment can be witnessed in the act of leaving my house every morning for work. Invariably, I click the front door shut at 5 or 6AM and then start to second-guess the contents of my bag. Am I missing something? Did I forget my wallet? Did I remember to pack a sports bra along with the gym kit that lies smashed at the bottom of my backpack? What about socks?

Nothing is going to work perfectly 100% of the time. Not your brain. Not your rental car.

Almost always my bag is correct, but each day I press against waves of self-doubt that suggest I should spill open the bag in the middle of my building’s hallway and triple-check what I’ve got in there. In recent years, I have grown better at silencing this voice and instead accept what I’ve prepared before rushing out the door. “Have a little faith in yourself,” I say as I head off into the dim-watted morning. I know what I’m doing.

It’s the prospect of a new view that keeps us going.

And so the same can be said for the trip to Rwanda—even if it has been almost three years since my last long-haul flight to the continent. This kind of voyage is nothing unusual, and indeed I have a fair amount of practice under my belt. Perhaps it’s because I’m a woman that I frequently misplace my foundation of confidence. I don’t know. Maybe this is just my way of guarding against a level of cockiness that will trip me up in a bigger way somewhere down the road.

First glimpses at first light. Ethiopia.

Whatever the case, once I found myself touching down in Addis Ababa, I felt so incredibly grateful to have eschewed all of the hesitation and instead pressed forward. To have trusted my past experiences and finally walk out the arrivals door of the Kigali airport without looking back or panicking that I forgot to bring something with me. On a large scale, it was that same feeling of satisfaction I get each and every time I sit at my work desk and successfully retrieve a pair of black uniform socks from my bag. Victory!

One way or another, we find a way to get where we need to go.

I don’t know if everyone goes through these periods of self-doubt when it comes to performing tasks that have become more or less routine. These undertakings that I clearly know how to execute, I somehow think that I’ll always be overstepping moments of hesitation and instead giving myself a little more credit. After all, what’s the worst that can happen? Finding myself in a jam—whether it’s being short on socks or suddenly requiring far-flung roadside assistance—at the end of the day, none of it is actually so bad. And if it is—it’s really okay. After almost four decades of practicing my routines I think I will know how to get myself out of it.

So close…but we’ll save it for another time.

Rwanda will not be my last crazy trip.