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I grew up believing love was something earned. As an imaginative, chubby child who loved to make people laugh, I was cherished. Later, lacking an MD, MBA or Esq. after my name, my favor waned. Without a bikini body, fancy title or fat bank account, I spent the next four decades trying to prove my worth to people who could never see it. Over time, I couldn’t see it myself anymore — until, at 62, an overseas adventure helped me take a huge leap towards self-acceptance.
It was a 10-day trip through Northern India with seven other women. I didn’t fit in with the other travelers on this sojourn. Four already knew each other. A fifth was invited into the fold because she roomed with the “queen bee.” A sixth bonded with the bee over a passion for photography. The seventh was a 20-something, more interested in capturing selfies than engaging with the rest of us.
Mine was the worst seat on the van, nothing beside or in front of it, hence nowhere to put my water bottle or bag. Every other seat was claimed for the duration of the trip. Those with vacancies beside them sprawled out their belongings to discourage me from relocating.
For days, I tried contributing to conversations, but my attempts were met with cold disbelief. My input seemed to silence any commentary. Nothing I said, thoughtful or humorous, drew me into the group.
I’ve always been able to connect with almost anyone and wondered at the odds that it was all of them, not me, who were the problem. But self-reflection kept leading me to the same conclusion. A mean-girl clique dynamic was going on with these frosty 50-somethings, and I refused to let them spoil my adventure.
In fact, something miraculous happened during my many hours alone in a crowd.
On the long ride to Jawai, pondering why these women didn’t like me, I tried viewing myself through an outsider’s eyes. I’m a high-energy gal who talks almost as quickly as an auctioneer. I’m extremely enthusiastic and (I get it), maybe I’m “too much” for some people. But enough to elicit hostility? I didn’t think so.
Viewing myself through someone else’s binoculars, I saw a curious, intelligent woman with a great sense of humor — who, in the second half of life, has explored stained glass, woodworking, quilting, mosaic, mahjongg, public speaking, and stand-up comedy. She’s learned to can pickles and jam and edit film, launched a humor blog and YouTube show, refinished an armoire, and bakes a mean babka.
I saw someone with a “yes” attitude who tried a fried cricket in Thailand, shortly before getting muddy scrubbing an elephant. Her hand was the first to fly up when the guide asked if anyone wanted to rent saris before visiting the Taj Mahal.
Through a fresh lens, I saw an interesting, playful person who enjoys hiking and kayaking, art fairs and museums, and gets high on a good garage sale. She is a voracious reader who loves Broadway musicals and vibrant colors, can’t resist a baby, and belts songs in the car, even when she doesn’t know the words.
I flashed back to the night before in Jodhpur, when I rose from the dinner table to dance with Rajasthani folk musicians, with no clue how to move to the unusual rhythm. From the viewpoint of my co-traveling curmudgeons, I saw a fool. But through the gentle eyes of a friendlier stranger, I saw a seize-the-moment gal embracing life.
I realized many things these women probably didn’t like about me — my animated exuberance and over-the-top enthusiasm — are what I like most about myself. So I considered what else I might allow myself to like: being a woman of my word, being self-driven and reliable, putting in as many hours as it takes to make a project just right.
The woman I saw loves to laugh. She’s a hard worker. She’s always learning, wanting to know what she doesn’t know about racism, refugees, transgender science, government and politics, because she sincerely wants to be a better version of herself every day.
Compassionate, she’s raced an injured chipmunk to the vet, catches and releases insects and sometimes feels guilty cutting a flower. I recalled her sitting on a New York City bus at age 20, on a rare day of feeling pretty. The older woman next to her asked, “When are you due?” Yet, embarrassed as she was, she didn’t want to cause the stranger shame. So she forced a smile and blurted, “July!”
Offering myself rare grace, I glimpsed a woman who puts other people’s needs ahead of her own. She puts her soul into a hug and is willing to be vulnerable in order to make meaningful connections. She’s loving, lively and fiercely loyal — someone I might like to have as a friend.
Pulling out my phone, I watched a video of myself dancing with the folk musicians, imagining I was viewing a random reel on social media.
“Absolutely ridiculous,” I chuckled. Neither Hollywood nor Bollywood would be calling. But I think if I were a stranger watching that crazy broad commit to those stiff, jerky moves, I might think, “That looks fun!” And because she broke the ice, I might have the courage to join in.
Halfway around the world, on a van full of people who didn’t like me, I finally realized: I like myself.
Have any of YOU ever been on a trip with people who obviously didn't like you? Let us know in the comments below.
Kaitlin Brito
Follow Article Topics: Travel
