Hitting 30 Countries Before 30 (Cause Dammit, I’m Proud)

It was 9:30 pm on a Friday when I arrived at LAX–a seemingly busy time for most travelers as hundreds of cars sat bumper-to-bumper along Sepulveda.I was embarking on a work trip to Chengdu, China, the capital city of the Sichuan province. And it was at that moment, when I pulled up to the Tom Bradley International Terminal, that I realized I was hitting my 31st country; and I hadn’t even talked about the profound moment I hit 30 countries before 30 years old! So let’s turn back the clock for a quick sec.

Is the subject of this post braggy? Privileged? Snooty? Maybe. But is it momentous? Something to be proud of? Very much so.

Because if you had asked me at 19–still a young, fresh-faced, not-so-innocent college student–I would have told you that hitting 30 countries before turning 30 wasn’t impossible per sé…

I just never believed I could ever do something like that. This dream was someone else’s dream and so far out of my reach. 

You see, at the time, I didn’t have the greatest self-esteem.

A shocking assumption, I’m sure. My college friends might disagree that I, the drunk and outgoing social butterfly at the party, had low self-esteem. But it seems like my self-esteem quota would max out at parties on the weekends and flirting with boys. When it came to self-love or believing in myself, I was tapped outta that good ol’ self esteem and self-confidence mojo.

But two years later, everything changed. I accepted my basic, college-girl rite of passage and studied abroad in Europe. Hell no it wasn’t in Barcelona or Munich. Instead, I bundled up in multiple layers and headed north to Uppsala, Sweden to live amongst the gorgeous, statuesque Swedish people.

Friends of the family and classmates would say, “You’re going there all by yourself?” I guess I should have realized then that this was kind of a big deal. I simply shrugged my shoulders and said, “Yeah, doesn’t everybody who studies abroad?” The naiveté was cute. I guess it’s not that “normal” to travel around the world by yourself.

So, in August of 2010, I hopped on a one-way flight to Stockholm, Sweden and holy forking shirt balls, did my life change.

Sure, I had done what many 20-somethings had embarked on before me, all of whom also felt their lives had changed forever. But something clicked in me that year. Learning a foreign bus route in Swedish takes time and patience, man. Learning how to pay rent, find the doctor’s office, and manage your healthcare in a quasi-socialist setting is challenging. And I can’t tell you how many times I had to fend for myself while traveling to different countries with friends. Like the time my wallet was stolen in London or the time I went to the murder capital of the world in Honduras or when two French boys followed and harassed me in Paris.

But in the end, I was always okay. I always found a way to take care of myself. I was strong and independent.

That year, I knew travel was going to be my life, someway, somehow. Hobby or job, my world would revolve around, well, the world. Travel gave me a sense of independence and self-reliance I had never known at home. Whatever life threw at me, I knew I was smart and capable enough to take care of it. Without travel, I don’t know that I’d have that confidence today.

Fast forward 8 years and I’m currently typing away at the Shanghai Pudong Airport. About to embark on my 31st country around the world for “work”.

The country that allowed me to ‘hit 30’ was Cuba and boy, was I obsessed with that country! Still, I didn’t make a big deal about this awesome achievement.

Perhaps I ignored this milestone because of the game of comparison on Instagram. I’ve talked about this bullshit phenomenon before. Comparing yourself to another’s journey will crush your spirit and eat your soul alive if you let it. And I guess I kinda did. (DAMN INSTAGRAM, WHY YOU SO INSIDIOUS?!) Because the 30 mark came and went and all I could think was, “well, it’s not 50.”

But I love retelling this story. It forces me to sit down and remind myself just how far I’ve come (literally). From the girl who had barely left her own suburb in Southern California to a travel blogger with a passport full of stamps in less than 10 years! From the girl who couldn’t believe she could do anything on her own–without the help of her parents, a boss, a boyfriend, a teacher, whatever–to wandering around the streets of Budapest or Chengdu, by herself.

Forgive me, won’t you, for giving myself the biggest fuckin’ pat on the back.

So yeah, I suppose I’m doing a not-so-humble brag atm. But it’s been so easy for me to not feel accomplished. To forget how amazing this journey really is. I’ve forgotten how to be proud of myself.

But for now, I’m saying it loud and saying it proud because what I’ve accomplished is amazing. If not to the world, it certainly is to lil’ ol’ me.