What It’s Like to Meet the Young, Wild and Free

Musings on growing up, sloths and baggage

On a four-hour van ride in Panama (from Changuinola to David), I got chatting to a couple of American girls in their twenties. They had been volunteering at a sloth sanctuary in Costa Rica for six weeks.

As the bus zigzagged through the lush Panama countryside, the girls explained that sloths can have strong personalities, as can the staff at rescue centres. Their organisation being a non-profit did not make it impervious to egos and office politics. Far from it.

At the rescue centre, a couple of hours outside of San Jose, the girls shared a bunk bed room with other volunteers for their six weeks. And now, the two girls were travelling for a few more. Joined at the hip, with little organisation, planning or Spanish at their disposal.

After I got my myriad sloth questions out of the way, I still had one burning question.

How did you spend so much time with one other person, in such close quarters, without conflict?

Obviously, the assumption that there was no conflict is mine alone, a consequence of the rose-tinted glasses I wear from time to time. It says more about me then about them… probably.

But you know what? I like my rose-tinted glasses. Through them, I saw nothing but two best friends living their best lives together. I even envied them a little bit. They were just so free.

I’m not just talking about travel plans here, although I loved that aspect too. There was such a lovely simplicity about their planning: they weren’t sure where they’d go next, but they were sure it would be nice. And if it wasn’t, they’d turn back. They liked sampling different foods, especially when it was cheap.

When their money ran out, they would go home. If their time ran out first, they would go home. And once home, they would make more plans. There was talk of going to a turtle sanctuary if life allowed. Maybe they would study close to each other. Their only concern seemed to be that their futures might not be as intertwined in the future as the present.

A world of possibility ahead of them.

They were shy, sweet and humble, both complementary to and complimentary of one another. No ego or competition. Just a genuine joy to be in each other’s company.

They were free in a way that my personality no longer allows, or perhaps that I choose not to be. Maybe it’s partly a consequence of getting older and the things that go hand in hand with it.

I work remotely, and so my travels can’t be too free. I have deadlines, meetings I need WiFi for, budgets and time constraints. It is the baggage that comes with the territory.

Now I want to be very clear: I am incredibly grateful for my baggage. I love my baggage! It’s the baggage that lets me travel around the world for months at a time.

But it’s also the baggage of experience. The experience that sends my alert up when I’m travelling after a series of bad experiences and horror stories from other travellers.

It’s the emotional baggage of being set in my own ways. Of occasionally needing my space, or getting wound up, or wanting things done a certain way, which can make me rigid and inflexible. I can be pretty headstrong. I’m not sure anyone would want to be joined at my hip for six weeks.

It’s the professional baggage of building a career and a reputation, meaning taking on work last-minute, being responsive and professional to clients. Which means not going off the grid unless I give specific notice.

These are suitcases that in the travel world weigh me down from time to time. But I am so grateful to have them. Because really, they are just a shuffle of priorities.

And it is exactly what’s inside my suitcases that takes me around the world for so long every year. My concern and scepticism, which make me read up on places before I travel and ask advice, usually resulting in savvy, efficient and safe trips. My stubbornness, which so often translates to resilience and hard work, purely to keep me on the road. My need for alone time, which makes me comfortable traveling solo.

Still, how wonderful it was to observe these two sweet, young girls, with nothing but backpacks.

I imagined putting my suitcases down for a moment and trading them in for their backpacks. Forgetting about budgets, work and stress. About past experiences. And it felt lovely.

But the girls and I — we each suited our travel gear, in the end. And truthfully, I’m free as well, it’s just a different kind of freedom. A more boring one, sure. But a long-haul one, too.

Meeting them was a personal reminder to maybe leave the suitcases in storage once in a while, and reap the joys of travel with just a backpack. I always smile when I picture the pair in the way I will always see them in my memory: listening to a sci-fi audiobook, one earphone each, with such clear happiness on their faces, somewhere between Panama and Cloud 9.

PS. This piece was metaphorical, because I do travel with a backpack. Only for practical reasons, of course.

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