I told my mom a few nights ago: “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

This, being my time here in Nepal; the lack of creature comforts that more developed countries offer, like consistent hot water and less risk of food poisoning; always feeling like an outsider; always feeling like I’m playing catch-up to a game of which I don’t quite understand the rules. 

This, being a constant underlying sense of discomfort since my arrival in Nepal. 

That’s not to say I haven’t had many, many moments of pure enjoyment and fun here, but the discomfort speaks at a much louder volume – probably due to the fact that I have never really experienced this kind of discomfort, or any kind, on such a large scale before.

My life in America was cushy, comfortable. I never ate breakfast while watching a family with young children beg for food; never had to boil water for a hot shower; never had to be careful of what I ate because I trusted that it was up to certain standards; never knew what it was like to be the only minority in the room; never had to sleep in a place where mold and cracks and no heat are normal. These were things I never had to experience. What a privileged existence I have lived. What a lucky woman I am.

I reread what I just wrote and scoff a little.

What I am experiencing isn’t even, in the grand scheme of things, all that extreme. It’s startling merely due to contrast. That’s not to say that the contrast cancels out what I am feeling, I am saying perspective matters, and it’s important to hold two things side by side sometimes.

My time here isn’t like a vacation, when you know that in two or three weeks, you’ll go back to what is familiar and comfortable. This is daily life in another country, and there is none of the anticipated knowledge of reprieve.

I mean, yes, I could choose to leave Nepal and go back home or at least to another country that offers similar creature comforts I grew up with and am used to. Just the other morning, before Hayden and I visited Bindhyabasini Temple, I was googling which country in Europe I should travel to. I need a break from being uncomfortable, I told myself. I was feeling overwhelmed with it all, and wanted to settle into comfort the way one settles into a couch. 

At Bindhyabasini Temple, a Hindu Temple in Pokhara, we walked around the complex and witnessed people praying to the statues of their gods and receiving blessings from the red-robed priests there. In one of the rooms, we were prayed over by a priest as he wound a string bracelet over our wrists before he gave me a tikka (a blessing) on my forehead.

Around us, others were receiving similar blessings. The room was filled with the earthy scent of incense, thin tendrils of smoke curling up from the flickering candles, and the gentle chanting of the priests. Every time I visit a temple, I am humbled by how sacred the atmosphere is. Humbled, too, by the feeling of the millions of people around me who stood in the exact spot I did, praying and marveling as I did. Makes me feel so very small, and like I am a part of something bigger, something universal. 

On our way out of that room, we passed by the statue of Kamadhenu, a wish-fulfilling cow whose ear you can whisper your wishes into. According to Hinduism, Kamadhenu was considered the mother of all cows and the giver of all desires. People were lined up to speak into this cow’s ear, and suddenly it was my turn. To tell you what I whispered into the cow’s ear would be bad luck, so I won’t tell you that.

But what I can tell you is that as soon as I stepped away from the cow and began walking around the complex again, the word surrender slammed into my mind. Hit me like a gong. Like a screech in my ear that said, remember me? 

Ah, yes, this concept again. Here so soon.

Surrender.

But this time, the concept showed up in a larger, more concrete way: Surrender to the discomfort. 

The thought nearly halted me in my tracks. Isn’t that why I came all the way over here? To leave behind all I knew and become a little (read: a lot) unsettled by my environment? To embrace that and revel in it? Because what is the point of this life if you don’t step out of your comfort zone and grab hold of all that life is and has to offer? Time is passing me by faster than ever, and by god, I want to eke out as much of it as I can in the time that I have.

In Salem, I felt like I was spinning my wheels, stuck with nowhere to go, and I was desperate to be uprooted and remolded in a big way. To get out of the bubble I’d encased myself in and learn what it is to experience something completely different.

Before I left for Asia, I said, multiple times to multiple people: “I want my life to be flipped upside down.”

Dear readers, be careful what you wish for, because the universe usually does a good job of giving it to you.

My world was and has been completely uprooted, many times over, on a daily basis. And you know what? I hate to admit it, but every time my world is readjusted, I fight it tooth and nail. I hold on tightly to fears, to the things I am missing, to the concepts of what it means to be comfortable or uncomfortable, to energies that don’t serve me. I do the proverbial kick and scream because it’s familiar. It’s comfortable. 

Guess what would be WAY easier? 

Surrendering. 

To fight against whatever is in front of me is to give it power, is to focus on it and make it larger than life. That fight robs me of my ability to find happiness within, and peace in my environment. That fight gets in the way of myself, and holds me hostage, keeps me chained to the past instead of allowing me to be fully present.

Our thoughts dictate much of our reality, so be careful what you let occupy space in your mind.

Suffering is an inevitable part of life, but much of it is due to our mental and physical responses. There is plenty of suffering that can’t be avoided, such as illness or death. But there is much suffering that is brought on by our own emotions and perspectives and reactions to things. Suffering is, in part, caused by our attachments, emotional or physical, and how much weight we give to those attachments.

Like, my attached perception of comfort and that I have to be comfortable to enjoy myself.

That’s not to say I can’t seek out comforts. I think it’s human nature to want to be comfortable. And there is a point where the discomfort can be detrimental, so discernment is important. But do I need hot water to be happy or feel fulfilled? Nope.

To me, surrender doesn’t mean a loss of control, a lack of agency or disregarding personal boundaries or limits. It means letting things be and allowing space for what is to come. And a reminder that nothing, absolutely nothing in this life, is permanent. The bad things will pass to make room for good and vice versa. Life is cyclical. 

I spend a lot of precious energy reacting to situations when all I should be doing is slowing down, observing and waiting. Forcing anything is a sure-fire way to receive a less than desirable outcome. Can’t stick a round peg into a square hole, as the saying goes. 

If Nepal is teaching me anything, and it is, surrendering is the lesson that stands above the others. Maybe the one that encapsulates all the others.

As I lean into this idea of surrender, my black-and-white brain wants to rebel, to assign a reason as to why I am uncomfortable: “I am a failure; I’m not cut out for this; I’m not enough.” Etc., etc. But what if there is no reason for it? What if it just is and I can choose how to move through it? 

I did not come to Nepal to seek comfort and feel at home. I did not sell all of my belongings to find a place that reminded me of all I left behind. I came here to grow and to seek experiences that would rattle me and fill me with life and teach me. For we are all students in this world, and it can teach me many amazing things if I choose to let it.

Discomfort and enjoyment can exist side by side; they are two sides of the same coin. Experiencing discomfort does not mean I failed. It does not mean anything. How I react to it is where the meaning lies.

For as long as I’m here, traveling through countries wholly unfamiliar to anything I ever knew, I’ll have countless moments of relearning this lesson of surrender. Tomorrow, next week and next month. Multiple times in a day. Hell, I’ll learn this lesson countless times over when I come back to America. One doesn’t have to travel to learn of surrender and our role in it. In some ways, I feel silly for not having learned it sooner, but that’s beside the point and irrelevant.

I am learning it now, and that’s what counts.

There is nothing wrong with not feeling cut out for this (gestures widely around me). But when I think about going back to America, a desire that’s come on strong the past few days, or traveling to a country in Europe to be in a more familiar environment, the thought just doesn’t sit well with me.

It feels wrong.

Like I have unfinished business on this side of the world. What that means, I have no clue. The world is so big and I am so small and if I can find a way to move through the discomforts instead of fighting against them, I just know that bigger things are waiting for me on the other side. I want to stick it out.

So today, I am going to lean into the discomfort. Just to see what it’s like. And that is enough.