I’ve always liked the idea of travelling. Of other people travelling, to far away, beautiful places and having a wonderful time. It seems like a reasonable thing to do. Not at all uncomfortable or scary.
I haven’t travelled much, compared to most of the people I know.
When I was a child, my family almost exclusively travelled to the same two destinations – one was in the French Alps, the other on the Belgian coast –, so I ended up knowing these places quite well. Despite them feeling familiar, however, I used to resent going on vacation. I hated temporarily giving up my routine, leaving my safe space (= my room), my toys, my favourite pastimes. Going on vacation usually meant that I had to share a room with at least one family member, therefore not having my own space to retreat to if needed. It also meant leaving behind a whole lot of my belongings (= coping tools) that gave me joy or comfort. A few days before leaving, I would usually get a really bad stomach ache that didn’t go away. And then, once arrived at the destination, I often got homesick, despite having my entire family with me. It wasn’t people I missed as much as home, my routines and my things.
To this day, I easily get homesick once I leave my home, and I’m usually way more excited to go back home than I am to leave. It’s why I always pack as many items as I possibly can whenever I travel, to create an environment similar to the one I have at home.
In my early to mid-twenties, I travelled a little with friends. It was mostly short city trips packed with activities which, combined with my inability to sleep (well) whenever I’m not in my own bed, left me drained and needing to recover for days afterwards.
I envy the people who can sleep wherever, whenever and who easily feel comfortable in any environment; by the time I finally get used to an unfamiliar environment and manage to sleep properly, it’s time to go back home.
I recently travelled to Berlin for the umpteenth time (I regularly go there to have my eyes checked) and despite having been there multiple times, I still don’t know how to “do it well”. I’m always stressed when I’m there and usually wish to be at home instead. To be fair, a city as big as Berlin isn’t the best place for me and my nervous system, I’m well aware of that. It’s too loud, occasionally too crowded and there’s no way to get around without public transportation, which can be a bit of a sensory challenge on its own.
Every time I go to Berlin, I try a different approach – I go sightseeing, I only go to quiet places, I allow myself to do very little each day, I go to coffee shops, I don’t eat out at all – and I have yet to find a way for me to truly enjoy staying in the city.
In general, it makes me wonder: Am I doing it wrong? Do I not know how to travel (well)? What do I need to do differently to enjoy travelling as much as other people seem to? Is there a manual everyone got but me?!
As I’m usually more stressed than excited ahead of a trip, I don’t enjoy planning activities for the trip in advance. I’m not one of those people who get excited in anticipation of vacations, so in order to minimise stress, I try not to think about them at all until I absolutely have to. This means, however, that I have to decide on what to do in a situation of overwhelm (= being in an unfamiliar, slightly stressful environment), which is basically a recipe for disaster.
The questions that keep popping into my head are am I not good at travelling? and do I simply not like travelling?.
Is not liking to travel a valid option? Am I allowed to not like travel?
I’m afraid that not having the desire to go on vacation makes me uninteresting and undesirable as a person, as travel seems like such a universally liked thing.
I’ve never got the chance to speak to anyone who feels the way I do, so I feel very alien, which makes me circle back to wondering if I’m simply not doing it right.
At the same time, trying to find ways to enjoy something I simply don’t enjoy seems like a waste of time and a really good way to ignore the fact that I’m autistic. Part of me still operates under neurotypical conditioning and believes that – if only I try hard enough! – I can be just like everyone else. So maybe accepting that I don’t enjoy travel the way other people do and letting go of the fear that it makes me a “worse” person is the first step towards feeling better about it.
I’m the Carrot. I’m autistic. I enjoy my home, my cooking and my routines. I love sleeping in my own bed and feeling well-rested. So far, I haven’t truly enjoyed travelling, which does not make me an uninteresting person.
The only thing left to do now is to believe my own words.
Carrot Days 