Travelation

I’ll never forget the day that made me feel like a profound sad looser. I was in snowy and frosty Sweden experiencing my worst trip abroad.

A few days earlier, elated to take a break from my job, I woke up in the morning with a large smile on my face that dramatically faded away when I saw how late I was for my plane. I had no idea how insignificant that moment of panic would be as compared to what was in store for me. A car accident, two delayed flights, midnight arrival in Stockholm without any local currency in my pocket – were a few excitements that set the tone of a promising travel.

The cherry landed on the pile of my misfortunes, when one evening the ATMs kept rejecting my card, which then was blocked by my bank without any prior notice. Exhausted and lonely, I roamed about snowy and wet streets, with no penny in my pocket, watching spitefully the Saturday night breeze taking over the passers-by. The cold gorgeousness of city and the absent-mindedness of walkers made me feel the bottom of my helplessness. Or so I thought.

Tired and nervous, I gave myself the permission to bathe in self-pity for a while; then I started to think of quick and dignifying ways to gain some cash to at least buy my dinner and pay my travel back to the airport. The first bright idea that hit my brain was to take off my fancy cap and make myself comfortable by a beggar playing his violin few meters away. My judgment was so clouded with despair that I even thought of asking him to lend me some money; then my dignity kicked in and I began frenetically to search for new ideas.

It did not feel right in my heart to beg for one’s money without giving anything in return; inspired by beggar’s performance, my imagination slid down to my talents menu. And there it was: my awful and merciless truth, lying down at the legs of the beggar, spreading divine violin sounds and making me feel like a huge fraud. I had no clue what my talents were; I did not know what I could offer the world to gain its gratitude for being me. I felt insignificant and untrue. Unexpectedly robbed of my false magnificence, I felt so poor and never a beggar seemed so rich to me. Then, the abrupt sound of my cell brought me back to my fake reality; my money problem was solved, but it did not matter anymore.

I walked to the hotel bitterly counting my untruthful years, took a hot bath and thanked Stockholm for giving me my life back.