Bit of a change from your typical “Am I Good Enough to be a Blogger” spiel, right?
Because I don’t need to ask that question; I know I’m good enough. I’ve always been a firm believer that you can do anything you put your mind to, you can be anything you want to be and go anywhere you choose in life (unfortunately we have a suit-wearing tangerine ‘leading’ the free world as testimony to that), so yeah, I am good enough. I don’t need validation for that.
But exciting?? That’s a whole other kettle of fish!
This is where I mention that I’m currently sat in the McDonald’s behind Zagreb train station munching on some potato wedges (domaći krumpiri in Croatian, just FYI) and watching the world go by.
And of course, by watching the world go by I mean mooching off of their free WiFi for as long as I can. My hostel’s only a 10 minute walk away but I just spent the last 5 hours on a bus listening to Ed Sheeran’s new album on repeat and so I’m definitely not emotionally stable enough to deal with face-to-face human interaction right now. I mean – Supermarket Flowers – can we just not?!
I swear that man is magic. There’s no one else on this planet who can make you switch from mourning your dead relative to doing an Irish jig in .7 seconds flat. What a diamond.
Anyway, this is the second McDonald’s I’ve frequented today, the first being back in Split about 9 and a half hours ago. Last time I had a McFlurry. It wasn’t a particularly fantastic McFlurry but I did learn that Smarties is not the universal word for Smarties, so there’s that.
It goes without saying that in between my two dates with the big yellow M, the 5 hour bus ride listening to the sweet sweet sounds of Teddy S and those 2 chapters of 1984 that I read before it got dark, I’ve had a lot of thinking time.
Normally what comes alongside a lot of thinking time is a whole load of word vomit tumbling out of my fingertips and onto the screen, kind of like when Dumbledore took his memories out of his brain and stuck them in that pot, except far less magical. And I don’t have a beard.
This, my friends, is that word vomit. Prepare yourselves now, this could get philosophical.
According to my Twitter and Instagram bios I’m a travel blogger (and we all know social media should be taken as gospel so let’s go with that), and if you pay any attention to my Instagram you’ll see that I spend most of my time frolicking about between one country and another with no cares in the world.
The same can’t be said for my Twitter which mostly involves me narrating my own bus journeys and retweeting cute pictures of the Obamas so for the sake of the point I’m trying to make, let’s pretend I don’t have Twitter.
So on the surface of Instagram – the InstaSurface, if you please – I live a bloody exciting life.
One week I’m in India, the next I’m in Poland. And the sky is always blue. Always. Go check if you don’t believe me.
And I have no doubt in my mind that there are some people in my life – real and online – who look at this kind of stuff, look at my almost-daily updates of pretty views and nice buildings and envy me. They think my life is fantastic.
Well do you wanna know a secret?
It is fantastic.
And it’s also really, really bloody boring. Like, sometimes I will honestly stop in my tracks and wonder how I even have friends, I am such a boring person.
This isn’t where I’m going to go off into an Instagram vs. Reality thing so don’t you worry your pretty little heads about that, but I am going run through a few truths.
Travelling alone is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It’s empowering, it’s liberating and it’s a whole lot of fun. It’s also tiring. It’s lonely. And sometimes I really don’t think I do it justice.
Because I’m actually a really, really boring person.
I don’t go to enough museums, I don’t test out enough restaurants, I don’t sample the local alcohol, I don’t mingle with locals as much as I should, I don’t often go “off the beaten track” but at the same time I barely even touch the beaten track!
Basically I’m a big dollop of boring sauce and a pretty shitty excuse of a “travel blogger”.
Because I do travel (a lot, lol) but I don’t really do a lot when I travel.
These days, with the amount of people actually following along with my little adventures through the wonders of social media, I’ve been putting a lot of pressure on myself to go out and do things, even if said things aren’t of particular interest to me.
Take, for example, when I woke up early-ish to go to a car museum in Riga. A CAR MUSEUM. You haven’t heard about that before because as soon as I stepped foot in the place I had a “What the heck am I doing?“ moment and hot-footed it out of there as fast as my tiny little legs could carry me.
Cars are not my thing. Hiking when there’s no spectacular view is not my thing. Milkshake is also not my thing. There are lots of things that are not my thing. Yet here I am trying to force myself to like them for the sake of a few thousand sodding words, when what I should actually be doing is focusing my attention on the things that are actually my thing.
Like burgers. I love burgers. But when you’re on the Dalmatian Coast you should be eating the fish, not burgers. What kind of monster travels all the way to Croatia and just eats burgers the whole time?! This kind of monster right here, that’s who!
When I eventually leave the warmth of McDonald’s and head to my hostel, do you know what this crazy 24-year old young ‘un is gonna do? Go to bed. At 10pm on a Saturday night. Conclusion? I am not exciting enough for this, whatever “this” is.