Where nobody knows you

Can you shed old skins?

Of the many shoulds that live rent-free in my brain, one should-voice tries to tell me what to see and do when I’m far from home. One of my earliest posts in this Substack was about my choice not to go to Manhattan when I had the chance. Although the should-voice tells me to make the most of my proximity to famous destinations, my true fascination with travel has always—even before I was able to travel—been about living a mundane life in a new-to-me place.

I never really had a rebellious teenager phase. Weeks before my 13th birthday, I got saved at a church youth weekend, saying yes to one congregation’s version of Jesus and no to cigarettes, alcohol, dancing, makeup, and jewelry. At an age when many of my peers were starting to defy the rules set by the grownups in their lives, I opted into a new list of restrictions. I’ve long since stopped identifying with that kind of religious legalism, but some habits are hard to break.

My first trip to Greece wasn’t my first time travelling abroad. As a member of the Salvation Army, I’d been a delegate to an international youth forum in South Africa and worked for two years in Germany. This grip to Greece in 2015, though, it was my first time travelling with no event to attend, no one to visit, no purpose beyond my own desire and curiosity. The question on my mind was:

Who do I become when I find myself in a place where nobody knows me?

Is this my first ever travelling selfie? Athens, 2015.