I have wanted to write about the week I spent in Scotland for years now, but never knew where to start.
Because Scotland was a lot of things. Scotland was a week of new love, saying goodbye to an old friend and discovering a beautiful, wild and wind-whipped country. Scotland was finally figuring out that your travel life and personal life will collide sometimes, and that the result can be complicated.
I quickly booked a place to stay and headed to Edinburgh to meet my childhood best friend and her boyfriend. I was about to study abroad on Mallorca and figured, why not squeeze in a trip to Scotland beforehand?
Back when I was 20, I wasn’t happy. My long-distance relationship was crumbling and my family situation was intolerably hard. But much of my discontent came from inside; I was stuck in a rut. And despite my valiant efforts, I felt I would always be overweight and unhappy.
But as always, travel alleviated my sadness if only briefly. As always, travel gave me respite from my worried head.
Instead of thinking about life back home, I threw myself into enjoying Scotland. And Scotland was easy to love; it was Celtic and gorse-covered and gorgeous.
When I think back on Scotland I remember the wind whipping my hair across my face while climbing Arthur’s Seat…
The starkly beautiful expanses of land on the train ride north…
Stumbling upon a rainbow AND a castle on the Isle of Skye…
Meeting a kind and hilarious Australian with whom I’d spend the summer with across Europe, in Paris, Rome and Sardinia.
When I remember Scotland my heart stings as it was the last time I ever saw, or will probably ever see, my childhood best friend. While we had fun in Scotland, things quickly fell apart once we got home. But on some level, I’m glad our friendship ended the way it did. As high-schoolers we had always dreamed of our trip to Europe, so it was an apt and poetic ending for our friendship to finish abroad.
But more than that, Scotland taught me that compartmentalizing travel and real life is a fruitless endeavor.
Before Scotland, I equated traveling with freedom and discovery and bliss, and my home life with all that is banal and sometimes painful: bills and grades and and friendships that just aren’t working anymore.
In Scotland I learned it’s impossible to saunter around unmoored from reality. Because no matter how far you run, you can’t escape the things you inevitably carry with you: your insecurities and your history and your shame, your fears and your friendships and your heartbreaks.
So thank you Scotland, for helping me grow up. Thank you for giving me a beautiful week with my friend and someone wonderful to spend the summer with. I’m sure (or I certainly hope) that I’ll be seeing you again.
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