Himalayan Reflections: Self-Discovery and New Beginnings
Just over a decade ago, in the fall of 2013, I made my first trip to Nepal. I almost didn’t make it, having a panic attack upon boarding my flight. I was fraught with emotions – anxiety, fear, doubt, overwhelm. Despite it all, the excitement was still palpable, and it helped to guide me.
I had been to Europe twice before, to many different countries, though this was my first time going somewhere so…foreign. A place I had been warned that I may face a complete culture shock. A place I had to prepare for by seeing a travel doctor and getting vaccinations. A place I would have to remember to use filtered water to brush my teeth. A place where the traffic rules (as I know them) do not apply, and therefore might be extremely scary for a visually impaired person, such as myself.
During this time, I was also climbing my way out of a long bout with depression. I knew that this was not going to be the cure for the emotional rollercoaster ride that had become my life. I did hope that it would at least give me…something. Some joy? Some purpose? Some feeling other than self-loathing? I knew that this would be no easy feat; that embarking on this journey could cause me to fall back down into the darkness because I would be overwhelmed, challenged, and frightened in a world so vastly different from my own. I hoped that I would be able to conquer these feelings and come out with a new perspective. If not, at least I would have tried. And it would be good to force myself out of my comfort zone, in life in general, and in learning to find independence in traveling as a visually impaired woman. So I said yes to the discomfort, and I took a chance on a life on the other side of the world.
My first few days were rough – emotionally, mentally, and physically. Mostly because of how helpless I felt. The uneven, treacherous sidewalks coupled with the overly busy streets essentially rendered my cane useless (mostly only out for the awareness of others). I quickly decided it was just easier to put it away and hold on to the arm of my companion.
After the initial shock of those first days, my friends and I took a trip out of the city to visit Chitwan and Pokhara – both cities that are a must-do when visiting Nepal. We spent 2 days in each, barely scratching the surface. Chitwan allowed us time to explore the national park with jungle walks, canoe rides, and animal-spotting. Pokhara offered massages, more canoe rides, and leisurely meals, along with time to enjoy the nightlife. Then, it was back to the hustle and bustle of KTM, where we would spend the next 3 weeks getting to know the city and people.
Oh, the people. One of the reasons I fell in love with Nepal. Both the Nepali people and the other travelers I met were some of the kindest, most helpful, most patient and most accepting people I had come across. As I slowly began to fall in love with all that enveloped my senses – the noise, the crowds, the history, the culture, the food (the momos!) – it was the people that reeled me in and made me never want to leave.
Even though I felt a complete lack of independence due to my low confidence because of my vision, I was content. I enjoyed constantly being with people. Getting to know them as they took their time to help me, always being right by my side, be it on foot or motorbike.
And all of a sudden, during those 4 weeks in Nepal, despite the initial stress and anxiety, I felt…happy. Not once did I think about how lonely and empty I felt all the time at home. I enjoyed life again, enjoyed feeling like myself again, enjoyed my new friends and family in KTM, and enjoyed the feeling of being loved by people (and loving them) that I’d only just met. I felt lighter, freer, and more at ease than I could ever remember feeling. And it was glorious.
And so, exactly 4 weeks after returning home, I went back.
While I was beyond excited as I prepared to get back to KTM, some of the doubts and worries were still there, although very different from the first time. What if the reason it was so good last time was because of the people, many of whom will not be there anymore?
When I voiced these doubts to my KTM roommate, her immediate response was that, while it won’t be the same, there’s also the chance that it might be better. So instead of focusing on the “what if” questions, I tried to take on her perspective. I focused on how fortunate I was to be going back to the land of dust and daal.
When I returned, I decided it was time for me to practice my independence. I arranged to meet a friend at the tea shop on the corner, leaving my accommodations by myself for the very first time. I turned left and walked 20 yards down the alley. The road conditions, the traffic, and my lack of confidence had kept me in the safety zone of always being with someone else (and always someone who knew I needed a little extra help). One of my primary sources of anxiety was that it had been hard to articulate to some of my Nepali friends the extent of my visual impairment. All I could think about was “What if some of my friends are there and I walk by them or don’t say hi because I don’t see them? And then they think I’m being rude because they don’t understand that I can’t recognize them?” There was also the short walk down the alley that worried me. It was above a sewer, with about seven random, uneven concrete slabs separated by giant cracks, and at the end was a ramp which, if I didn’t make it up and turned too quickly, might fall off the edge of a very steep step. At the top of the ramp is a pole to the right where I have to turn to get to the tea shop, so if I didn’t already know it was there, I could run smack into it. More of the “what if” scenarios that like to cycle through my mind. And once again, all was fine and I stressed myself out for no reason. It was liberating to finally go somewhere by myself and ended up being a major turning point for me in my journey to independence.
A couple of days later, I got brave enough to walk home with a Nepali friend (one with limited English and a limited understanding of my vision) from Thamel, and again, all went well. A huge reason was the fact that after almost 2 months of walking back and forth along this same stretch, I had become familiar with the route. I knew where the more treacherous parts of the street were and I knew that when we got to the quieter part of our neighborhood, I would ease into feeling safe and confident.
These little victories might sound incredibly minute. For me, they were encouraging and empowering. In a city that I had come to love, despite feeling limited and sometimes helpless, these few incidents helped show me that I am capable, no matter where I am, and no matter who I am with (or without). That I have the strength and ability to overcome self-doubt and self-imposed fears.
I ended up going back for 2 more months in the spring of 2014. My independence and confidence grew with each passing day as I slowly began to go more places on my own, even as more struggles ensued. I stayed in a different place, this time in the Thamel neighborhood. I explored more areas of the KTM Valley, I went on mini-treks, and I made more friends. I cried and I stressed and I sometimes wanted to go home. I also learned, I laughed, I loved. I lived. And I can’t wait to go back again. Now, 10 years later, I have traveled on my own through countless cities and countries around the world with no second thoughts (though still a lot of anxiety!). For me, Nepal was the start of a new beginning. The beginning of a new life. And for that, I will be forever grateful.
The world is an incredible place, with incredible people. All of us are unique, and yet all the same. I believe that you can find beauty everywhere and within everyone. Every corner, every person, holds a bit of magic. No matter where you might be physically, mentally, or emotionally, you have the power and ability to survive. To thrive. And to feel alive. And to realize it can be done with both the belief in yourself and the support of others. I encourage you to go out and find it all. And, if you find it in Nepal, have some buff momo for me.
Aly Slaughter is a legally blind yoga teacher and award-winning presenter, who passionately advocates inclusivity, wellness, and community through yoga.
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