Mind Maps

Bathrooms are rarely glamorous. The bathrooms at London’s Stansted airport are no exception.
Standing at the sink, I casually filled a cup with water. I glanced at the line of women that would surely judge me for what I would do next. I drank the water quickly, eager to end the process. But I did it again. And again. Each time, I met the eyes of another woman appalled by my actions.
I reluctantly looked in the mirror, though I could have predicted my rough appearance. There was no doubt that the women were staring at me for this reason as well. I looked as if I had suffered some illness or spent time living on the street. In reality, I was returning from an eight day backpacking excursion.
I was exhausted. I had taken one shower on the entire trip. My clothes were messy. I chuckled silently at the thought of what an outsider would see in me: an unhygienic, young girl drinking water from a disgusting bathroom sink. I risked the germs and public humiliation to avoid paying one or two pounds for a bottle of water.
By this point in my travels, I had chugged water from countless bathroom sinks, some more offensive than others. In this moment, I looked in the mirror and truly reflected, How did I get here?
The right combination of luck, fate, and scholarships led me to Europe. The London airport was the last stop on a spring break trip during my semester in Florence, Italy. But how did I end up with sagacity for travel? Where did I gain the willingness, even desire, to be uncomfortable? Why did I spend the night on the floor of a Belgian train station or remain atop an Irish mountain despite the downpouring hail? My travels throughout the semester cumulatively prepared me for moments like this one.
Eating strange food (sheep stomach and blood), sleeping in questionable situations, and wandering around lost were regular occurrences on this trip. The week’s festivities pushed me mentally and physically. Some may see this as a setback, but I found it invigorating.
I crave the seemingly inferior experiences that remind me of my youth and spirit. I am proud that the girl staring into the mirror of the Stansted airport was not the girl that left Florence eight days prior.