Canada!
reflections after a month spent exploring our northern neighbor
I recently returned from a month-long trip to Canada, during which I visited five cities (Toronto, Montreal, Quebec City, Halifax, Vancouver, for a few days each) and one national park (Banff, for about 2 weeks).
It was hectic, but fun! Here are some photos from my trip:
I traveled by myself for the entire trip, so I spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts. Documenting a few reflections, ramblings, and realizations here.
On people-pleasing
Christine, my partner, is uniquely gifted at forming connections between non-obvious things, particularly between experiences in the past and behaviors in the present. For her, this act has been helpful in processing and gradually un-internalizing the toxic shame from her traumatic childhood. I’ve generally had more trouble with this kind of introspection — but on my sabbatical, aided by Christine and too much alone time, I made some interesting connections.
One of these connections centers around my tendency to people-please. My reflections on this topic were triggered by a stressful period of my trip, during which I booked an Airbnb in "peaceful" Cape Breton, realized I fucked up after the host asked about my plans for the impending hurricane (what hurricane???), and then panic-flew across the country last-minute to escape Canada's worst storm in decades. Following this tragic saga, I arrived in Vancouver late in the evening, ready to kick back, relax, and turn on some mind-numbing reality TV.
After arriving at my Airbnb, my host (a sweet elderly lady) showed me to my room, which was spacious, clean, and pleasant... except for the strong acrylic smell emanating from the recently-renovated bathroom. My host apologized profusely, to which my immediate reaction was to assure her that oh, it was no problem at all, and that no, I couldn't really even smell it (I could). After she left, I then spent the next few minutes opening all the room's doors and windows to try and expunge the odor.
Why did I pretend like the smell didn't bother me, even though it did? Part of it was that the smell wasn't that bad at first (I was wearing a mask), and part of it was my reluctance to deal with Yet Another Thing after my debacle of a day. Another part of it, though, was that I instinctively prioritized the comfort of my host above my own; I didn't want my host to feel bad because of me.
I think the roots of my people-pleasing instincts can be traced (in part) back to southern suburbia, where I spent the majority of my formative years. When I was ~4, my family moved from Toronto to Dallas, and then a couple years later to Plano, a neighboring suburb.
In Toronto, we lived near Chinatown and were surrounded by people who looked like us; in Plano, I was the only East Asian in my predominantly white first-grade class. My school at first was unsure what to do with me; I remember being placed in ESL classes for the first few months until the teachers realized that English was, in fact, my primary language.
I didn’t really experience any overt racism in those early years. But I do think my race, and the accompanying cultural differences, were enough to set me apart from most of my peers, who were quick to outfit me with stereotypical labels: nice. shy. smart. quiet. nerdy.
At that age, it didn't take long for me to internalize the labels I had been assigned, and I soon found myself shrinking myself in social situations in an effort to conform to my classmates' expectations. At the lunch table, I'd stay silent ("quiet") but keep a smile plastered on my face ("nice"). During recess, I'd sit on the sidelines of my friends' football games and watch ("nerdy"). In the classroom, even though I usually knew the answer, I'd rarely speak up ("shy").
This brought me to a place where I learned that the way to make friends and get someone to like you is to be accommodating, agreeable, and to not take up too much space. I learned to put the spotlight on the person you’re talking to, to ask lots of questions, and to listen attentively. As I grew older and became more comfortable in social situations, I only grew more adept at subduing and softening myself in order to make others more comfortable.
So… what now? I'm working on diagnosing my own needs and asserting them more. Along the way, I’m trying to tease out which parts of people-pleasing are natural and good, and which parts are detrimental. Let me know if you have any tips or resources!
On solo travel and the empathy gap
I first heard about the term “empathy gap” a few years back on a Hidden Brain podcast. The basic idea is that it’s very hard for someone to predict how they’ll feel in a given emotional state, when they’re in a different emotional state.
Here’s a funny little example from my trip. Consider the following three snapshots of my thoughts, at various points:
Before the trip. I had never traveled solo for an extended period of time, and was super excited about the idea of it. For the first few days, it was bliss! I designed my own travel itinerary, kept my Airbnb as messy as I wanted, and spent nice meals actually focusing on the food rather than the conversation.
During the trip. Traveling solo became less great. I began to miss having someone to share travel stress, funny stories, and fancy hotels with. Cities began to blur together, and I realized that I don't intrinsically find most touristy attractions interesting. By week two, I found myself entertaining the idea of poaching a friend to join me for the back half of the trip, though I didn't end up following through with that idea.
After the trip. A few weeks after the trip ended, I've already forgiven many of the specific gripes I had with solo travel and convinced myself that it wasn't that bad. Despite knowing and remembering that I didn’t really enjoy traveling solo while I was doing it, I can’t help but be excited about my next trip!
On trip planning and keeping too many doors open
I've never been much of a planner on vacations. Usually, I book the high-level logistics (flights, housing) ahead of time, but don't plan much beyond that.
For this trip, I tried an even more hands-off approach: before the trip, I booked a one-way flight to Canada and lodging for only a few nights. The rest, I decided to play by ear. If I found myself loving a place, I'd extend my stay for a few more nights. Conversely, if I found myself itching for a change of scenery, I'd pivot quickly. I hypothesized that by providing myself this extra flexibility, I'd be maximizing my enjoyment on the trip by only spending time in places I wanted to, and was mentally prepared for the extra hit to my pocketbook.
Unfortunately, I soon found my idealistic vision bogged down by the realities of last-minute travel; thinning flight and lodging options actually made my travel plans less liquid than normal. Furthermore, during my supposedly carefree time exploring Toronto, my headspace was haunted by the specter of needing to get home so I could nail down my travel logistics. Before long, I realized the error of my ways, and booked plans for (most of) the remainder of the trip in a single night. I enjoyed the trip significantly more after that.
There’s a lesson here that I think is more broadly applicable outside of just travel: trying to keep too many doors open can actually limit your options.