Perpetual Motion

Some people are just better at enjoying the ride.

I’ve been in a downward spiral for the past week and a half, and it’s been very, very rough. Now well into my seventh week in India, I assumed that my troubles were over. My first month was difficult, but I grew, I adjusted, and I made peace with all the doubts and what-ifs. However, all the negativity has just been swarming me since the beginning of September. I keep asking myself, is India really the right place for me? Can I do this for 9 more months? Am I crazy for coming here? So many questions that have yet to be answered.

On Monday the 10^th, when I left school, I was in the same state I’d been for about a week: I was on the verge of tears. My kind, kind friends invited me out with them, but I declined, not wanting my bad mood to ruin their good time. Instead, I walked.

Lately, long walks have been the only thing capable of improving my mood. The sidewalks of Mumbai are all tiny disaster zones, home to the homeless, bed of mangy stray dogs, storefront for the entrepreneurial fruit seller, and toilet for the rest of the city. Needless to say, it’s quite necessary to keep your wits about you when you go for a walk. Concentrating on not going knee-deep in one of the open sewers is a really great way to get your mind off things, I’ll be perfectly honest.

So I walked. The sun blazed overhead as I walked passed familiar hang-outs, past landmarks, and past all things familiar until I was good and lost. Oddly, I had come upon a posh little bakery, so I went inside, ordered a bagel slathered in Nutella, and cried like an idiot for a few minutes. Doubt lay like a crushing burden on my shoulders. What was I doing in India? Why didn’t I choose someplace sane, someplace normal? I’ve been asking myself those questions so often that they’re starting to go stale. I only stayed for about thirty minutes—just enough time to eat, weep, and pay.

I left the restaurant and quickly realized that I was very lost. My perspective changed a little then—being lost wasn’t a misfortune, it was an opportunity. So I began to walk again, and each step soothed my heart and calmed my mind until I could barely remember what I had been upset about. Even though my sandals rubbed familiar sore spots on my feet, I started feeling happier. Even the people around me seemed to transform from a homogenous and intimidating sea of faces to a group of individuals who—quite like me—were simply trying to make their way in this often-overwhelming but entirely unique city. Feeling a little braver than I had felt in a very long time, I asked for directions to the train station (in Hindi, no less!) I could only understand the first line of instructions, so I would meander from street to street, stopping in interesting shops and just generally wandering. Being lost was somewhat cathartic. Not only did the long, warm afternoon allow me to explore the streets of Mumbai, but it also gave me time to go through the avenues of my fears, my worries, my hopes, and my goals. After asking about a dozen sleepy security guards, sari-clad, aunties, and eager young schoolboys in crisp blue uniforms, I was almost sad to see the station come into sight. In getting lost, I had found so much more than my way.