Panic attacks in Paradise

Travel and self-doubt in Zanzibar

Made using DeepAI

I’m at serious risk of sounding like the most annoying person you know, but travelling isn’t easy. 

I know, I know. I’m typing away on my MacBook in a beautiful private rental 50m away from Jambiani Beach on one of the planet’s most beautiful islands. 

I’m not pretending to work hard in an office or grafting on a building site or sitting in traffic. I haven’t driven a car in over six months, for that matter. 

However, one thing that travel is not, is comfortable. By definition, travel is about movement. Voluntary discomfort is kind of built-in. However, when you travel with (relatively) little savings, in the hope that you will have more time to find a way to earn independently, and you also have no end-date, travel can be radically uprooting. 

For some background, we went from a reliable car, a beautiful apartment and an extremely comfortable job to no car, hostels or rentals and transient, short-term work. Behind the sheen of white sand beaches, £3 cocktails and no working week is a rollercoaster of emotions. 

This morning, for example, I woke up like someone in debt to a dangerous man. I felt like I was starting the day in a deficit. 

The dappled sunlight was tickling the trees outside and our air-conditioned room was cool and calm. I could hear the call to prayer bouncing around nearby mud huts and I couldn’t help but feel I should’ve felt grateful for my extended presence in the Indian Ocean. This island of spices, seafood and surf. I should feel so lucky for spending more time here than most people will have in their lifetimes. 

But I was anxious. For no rational reason at all, I was anxious. I felt guilty for being here. Like I didn’t deserve the experience of a lifetime because I’m not earning very much and I hadn’t gone for a run yet.