The Bear's Hungry

The Process of Taking a Risk

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I’d like to cue “Maneater” 

by Daryl Hall and John Oates for this next part. Red lights radiate from behind the scenes, fingers tap away at a keyboard, a small drop of sweat slowly migrates down my face. I do wish the work during that period was as iconic as I can now can make it up to be in hindsight. In all transparency, it demanded more of me than I thought I possessed at the time. 

I had no clue where to start with pursuing my newly realized travel aspirations, but thankfully, social media is a wonderful buffer for those random things. Falling into videos on cheap travel black holes is so easy—just type in a few keywords, and presto!—way too much speculative information for your hungry belly. I didn’t exercise proper research skills right off the bat, no, it took one too many spam emails and texts to make me realize; I wasn’t getting closer to finding solutions to my conundrum.

My trinkets of advice are to: pay attention to sponsorships your idealized travel-gurus have. Their advice may not be as genuine as a random traveler with 200 followers. Also, if something appears too good to be true, it probably is.

After revising my game plan, I found a few options to cost-effective travel that seemed promising; WWOOF, Workaway, and World Packers. I was introduced to the idea of WWOOFing by a random Hinge match who responded to my prompt asking for tips on affordable travel. Another trinket of advice: you can never welcome too many travel pointers, but maybe don’t utilize dating apps for them.

However, upon reviewing Yelp comments and investigating the platform, I realized WWOOF didn’t have the security features I wanted as someone new to travel, solo-travel, international work, etc. Thanks again to the random man for the suggestion, and it’s nothing personal. I’m just too invested in another– a sort of travel visionary, e-sea on the eyes, a blue-and-gold stamp holding Casanova. 

I was then left with two options: Workaway and World Packers (WP). The more compelling testimonials of the two came from WP; overall it hosted many more users, held a larger library of work opportunities, and provided a social network of other travelers you could chat with to ask questions regarding their travel experience(s). WP seemed much more well-rounded and a pinch more established. Additionally, it offered a safety feature, which ensured shelter if your experience didn’t go as planned, which was a relief to me and skeptical family members. I quickly flashed a fabricated reality of being in another country and waking up to a stranger watching me sleep. The comfort in knowing that that alternate Triniti could just mosey on out and be in a different, safer volunteer setting helped me sleep a bit lighter. 

I didn’t want to fully glamorize World Packers right off the bat, so I did further research into Workaway to see if it offered anything WP didn’t. I scoured social media and Yelp for reviews on WP experiences that didn’t go as planned. The scariest story was of a woman who slept in a bed with lice, and another gal who found bugs in her supper. Not to diminish how gross both of those seemed, but I thought that accidentally munching on a cricket was totally fine over being watched in my sleep—or maybe worse. Having a meet-and-greet with an unexpected friend was something I was willing to risk if it meant the chance to explore the world. 

I earnestly debated which WP subscription to purchase, and when to buy it. World Packers offers different promos throughout the year if you monitor their site; around the holidays, they offer discounts on subscriptions, and around New Year’s, they offer an additional four months free with your purchase. Along with that, they have three tiers of subscription choices for both partner travelers and solo travelers. For solo travelers, the cheapest option is $49, following that is the mid-tier $99 option, and the top-tier is $129 for the highest level of protection and all the other travel bells and whistles the site offers. 

With this financial component and internal debate of when to jump, came an onset of emotions that definitely absorbed much of my grit. “What if the whole experience blew up in my face?” “Am I really going to give up everything, especially the stability I’d sacrificed so much of myself for just to chase a dream?” “What will my family think of me if I do this?” What if something happens while I’m gone?” “Wait, I'm genuinely scared, and there’s no way I can actually travel right now.”

A few weeks passed, and I was utterly blocked off to the idea of traveling. I began accepting that it was okay for me not to go if it meant I could ensure the stability of everything and everyone else around me. I allowed a wave of sadness to creep in, I waded in the blues of slowly mourning the death of a passion while telling myself it wasn’t that bad. I went back to therapy because I felt so lost yet again, as I watched myself put up the bike I’d just greased up to ride. 

I dissociated each day while working so the time flew by. I went through the motions of living and force-fed myself acceptance for dinner. Then the night would creep in, and I’d sit cozily in my bed, which at that point had also become the shoulder of a friend, my living room sofa, a kitchen table, and a mom that wiped my tears as I cried in the privacy of my room. 

I’d awakened again to the sounds of my bedroom ceiling shouting down at me: “Triniti wake up, wake up”. My fears flashed before my eyes once more, I gripped my covers tight. Much of my life had been riddled and entangled with ideas of how I felt I should live for others. Nearly every one of those notions I held onto dearly, directly contradicted with what I wanted. 

What a privilege it is to question what you want and have the opportunity to change it. Traveling, to me, meant more than just getting to play a tourist. It felt that I was supposed to set off to connect with people, learn from them, and help them in whatever capacity I could. I wanted life to feel so lovely and intimate—like my arms were outstretched for the world, whilst my fingers were spread, allowing whatever to come come, and letting the rest sift through the spaces. I wanted life to feel like anything was possible for me, so I was going to allow it to be. 

I threw my blankets off and let my feet guide me to my computer. Even though I didn’t feel ready enough, I told myself to follow my passion not knowing what would come of it. No one was coming to thank me for my mediocrity, no lifeguard to pull me out of the swimming pool. I needed to get my shit together. This was supposed to happen to me. This opportunity was mine to have. The time was now.