How COVID-19 Stole My Around-the-World Trip and Offered a Gift in Return

When a good friend grew tired of knitting scarves and hats, she moved onto power bands, ribbed wrist bands that resemble sweater cuffs without the rest of the sweater. As she knitted, she concentrated on a specific word, imbuing the yarn with characteristics of that word. I selected “flexibility” as a reminder, each time I looked at my wrists, to relinquish control of everyday situations, allow my children to take the lead more often, and concede to my husband’s perspective from time to time.

In short, I wanted to become the person I used to be.

Ten years ago, when I became a mother, I embarked on an unintentional journey of calcification. I rejoiced at evenly spaced naps of specific lengths. I embraced the regularity of diaper changes. I controlled vitamin consumption by making my own baby food. My inner planner and control freak loved organizing every bit of my daughters’ lives and choosing exactly when and what they wore, played with, watched, and ate.

I wasn’t always so controlling, though.

In my early 20s, I departed for the tiny village of Kuncila in Mali, West Africa as a U.S. Peace Corps Volunteer, spending over two years without running water or electricity. Half the time, I had no idea what was going on or what people were saying. One day, I helped a taxi driver repair a car with duct tape so that we could get back on the road. On another day, my host family offered me puff adder for dinner. Still another time, I rode a public bus lacking a windshield for 12 hours, becoming coated with insects along with my fellow passengers. Unpredictability met me around every turn. I loved it.

In my late 20s, I began a non-profit organisation with a co-founder who wouldn’t let me think too hard about diving in, encouraging me to go with my gut. Overnight, I went from being a peon at one organisation to an executive director at another. I found myself wading through financial statements, recruiting and managing a Board of Directors, raising funds, and more, applying the motto “fake it ’til you make it” shared with me by another unlikely founder. I blossomed.

In my early 30s, I quit my stable job and honeymooned with my new husband for three months, boating down the Mekong River, wandering around temples in Cambodia, spotting orangutans in Borneo, and backpacking through the hills of northern Thailand with no planned accommodation or route from day to day. I thrived.

And then ten years of parenting ensued — ten glorious, joyful, challenging years — and here I am, calcified like the zippers on my backpack. Yet, children only submit to control for so long; they push buttons and test boundaries rather quickly. My daughters are now 9 and 11; one of them insists on making her own snacks, while the other has extraordinarily strong opinions on, well, everything.

I understand that parenting is a process of letting go, its mark of achievement young adults who care for themselves and make well-reasoned decisions. I must become more flexible and relinquish control to help attain these outcomes.

In addition to fortified wristbands, my husband and I made plans that would jolt me with a million gigawatts of flexibility rather quickly: a year of international travel. The backpacks would come out of the closets, their zippers lubricated, and we would take off to multiple countries in Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania, circumnavigating the world in 12 months.

Travel offers many benefits, and most of them suffuse us from head to toe swiftly, like a shot of strong Borneo palm wine. Depending on how far we step from our comfort zones, we may grow more patient, self-aware, tougher, open-minded, or persistent.

Through missed buses, unknown foods, indecipherable signage, labyrinthine markets, and delayed trains, I would grow more nimble, demoting personal expectations and changing course with ease. I craved it.

As the year-long planning process began, my inner control freak once again awoke and perked up its ears. It helped design an intentional journey that would introduce my daughters to the newness of cultures gently, initiating them to international travel in Central Europe several months before grittier North Africa and Asia. By the time we were trekking through Peru, the children would be hardy, resilient, adaptable travellers. I organised our itinerary based on weather (August in Romania, not in Egypt), festivals (January in Vietnam for Tet), and distances (Santiago via Sydney, the shortest route). I had it all planned out.

We purchased our one-way tickets from the USA to Europe, departing on June 16, 2020. And well…you know how that story goes.

Several months before our departure, a microscopic pathogen quietly began its own international journey, hopping its way across the globe effortlessly. As the world reacted, this tiny pest sprawled across three seats on near-empty airplanes and wandered deserted ruins and cathedrals, enjoying the type of under-tourism we travellers crave.

And just like that, COVID-19 forced upon me the most extreme version of letting go I possibly could have conceived. My job evaporated; the itinerary grew elusive, and instead of gathering gear and goodbyes, I gathered travel credits and cancellations.

So here I sit, absorbing a distorted version of exactly what I wanted: flexibility. I can’t make plans; I can’t create an itinerary; I can’t even stop at friend’s houses down the street. Each time I visit the grocery store, the changing rules keep me on my toes: walk the aisles in one direction; stand on this circle; handle the bulk carrots with your hands, but don’t scoop olives with a spoon. My friends keep me alert with their own interpretations of the word safe: we can hug with faces turned away; we can only hug if we both wear masks; we can’t hug at all.

My inner control freak has gone silent as our life-changing journey waits in the wings. I remind myself that those countries and cultures are still out there: our Czech host family still wants to meet; Luxor isn’t going anywhere; Hoi An is still as breathtaking. And each day, my rigidity fades as a newfound adaptability and a growing awareness of my profound lack of control supplant it. Like everyone else, I shrug, sigh, and take each day as it comes, waiting to see what the future holds.

A version of this article was previously published on We Are Worldschoolers.