My First Foray Abroad Was On An Island 10,000 Miles Away From Home — Alone.
It took 35 hours to get to the place where my Eat, Pray, Love moment would surface — on a tiny resort island in the Maldives.
Disclaimer: this blog was originally written in December of 2021. After refinement, it is being published now. The author is no longer in the Maldives, but rather back in Texas (a less exciting but equally endearing place), and at a new job that she loves and at which she feels appreciated. The context of these notes should be considered within the time frame at which they were written.
Hours before I arrived at George Bush Intercontinental Airport to catch the first leg of my travels — a flight to Dubai — I almost cancelled the entire trip.
In tears, I looked at my mother and asked her if I was crazy. Growing up, we’d never gone abroad. My American passport, a novelty I’d possessed for over four years at this point, was completely unused. When I learned I would be going to Dubai for the international portion of my Master of Business Administration, I decided to take the opportunity to check an item off my bucket list and visit the Maldive Islands. At the time, it seemed like a truly brilliant idea.
But now, as I was preparing to board a plane for my first time abroad, all by myself… I felt like a fool.
I’d begged multiple friends to join me. For years, I’d attempted to travel with someone. I was afraid to go alone. I longed for the safety net of companionship — I dreaded the idea of sitting in a restaurant by myself, much less visiting a foreign destination. One way or another, plans fell through and nothing ever panned out. So, in a moment of independence-filled spite, I booked a solo trip.
But as I loaded my Delsey Chatelet 24" suitcase into the back seat of my dad’s truck, I realized just how scared I really was.
I was raised in the South. Texas, to be exact.
A place where patriotism, friendliness, and Jesus are all celebrated. Growing up, I didn’t know anyone who didn’t believe in all three. On top of that, I’d never left the United States before — except for the one time I crossed the border to Canada over Niagara Falls, or when I was basically in Mexico the time I visited Laredo.
So when I land in Dubai, and realize that my entire rear end (which I affectionately dubbed my Texa$$) is rather inappropriately on display in my workout leggings and dry-fit shirt — a sore thumb among hijabs and burqas — I rush to the nearest clothing store and buy a flannel to tie around my waist.
I knew Dubai would be another world. I just didn’t know how much. People dress differently here, and any English I recognize is shrouded in a thick accent. I secure my University of Texas ball cap on my head in hopes of finding one fellow Longhorn somewhere. No dice, though a stray Aggie gives me side eye as I pass, and it’s all I can do not to cling to him like a security blanket for the duration of my layover. Oil country, am I right?
The vulnerability of being away from home is not lost on me, but there is enough English speaking going on to give me a semblance of comfort. I try to FaceTime my mother, but the connection is poor. God, I miss her.
The time difference begins to set in. I realize that I am 10 hours ahead of my entire family. With that realization comes a heavier sense of loneliness. I’m 8,000 miles away from Texas. 8,000 miles away from my parents. And, though I’m 26 years old — a fully grown woman — I have to labor more than I’d care to admit to hold back tears in the food court of a strange airport in the middle of the night.
I never realized how uncomfortable I was with myself.
I have always touted self confidence like it was an Hérmes bag. Rare, valuable, and meant to be shown off. But now, sitting alone in the Dubai airport at 1am, I realized just how much I didn’t like myself. I didn’t want to be alone with me. The jig was up.
Everything was awkward. Everyone had someone. Friends laughed, lovers cuddled, families fought and made up — and I sat in silence. Insecurities started to rail against my brain. Do they all think I’m a loser? Am I the girl that couldn’t get anyone to go because no one likes her enough to spend time with her? Will I be alone forever?
I felt stalled in my tracks. After a year of constant change, new jobs, graduate school, defiance of comfort zones, love, and pain, and loss — after cutting off close family members, after watching my father struggle through cancer, after ending friendships, breaking up with lovers — the thing that was going to kill me was the deafening loneliness of solo travel abroad.
On the plane ride from Dubai to Malé, I was seated next to a young Saudi Arabian couple. The woman followed the extent of sharia law, and was covered to her eyes. I tried to speak with her, and realized she couldn’t speak English. Then, it dawned on me. Here, I was the foreigner. Here, the common language was Arabic — a language with an alphabet I couldn’t even recognize, much less parse some words together for broken phrases. The privilege of being an American is one that I never fully realized until this moment. I was expecting a complete stranger to know my language, though we were halfway around the world.
The irony of that, of the intrinsic self-absorption that I exhibited as a function of my own inexperience, was not lost on me.
When I finally landed in Malé, I was ushered to a hot, humid, crowded room to go through customs. I presented my passport, my bill of health, my vaccine card, and my PCR test. I was then swept onto a bus and delivered to a seaside terminal to wait two hours for my seaplane to arrive.
While waiting, I met a friendly middle-aged couple from London, and a young couple on their honeymoon also following sharia law. I witnessed the affections of young love in what may have been their first opportunity to touch each other uninhibited by the laws of religion or the norms of culture. I’m not sure to what extent orthodox Muslims are able to interact romantically, but based on the rules around PDA in their respective countries, my guess is that their options before marriage are incredibly limited.
Here, though, on a tiny island in the Indian Ocean, they held onto each other with the anchors only deep, fresh, innocent love can afford.
As it turns out, we were all on the same seaplane together. Myself, and four couples: an older couple, caught in the steady solidarity of mature love; the middle-aged British couple experiencing what was likely their first escape from their children in years, a mid-twenties couple that appeared to be American — her, racked with fearful anticipation about the seaplane; him, trying to set her at ease — and the youthful Muslim couple, her head against his shoulder for the entire ride, and his arm around her waist.
And then there was me. I sat towards the back of the plane, watching the love birds coo. A dark, heavy spirit fell on me. I turned inwards, giving way to the tendrils of self loathing. Of course I was here alone! No one could bear the idea of traveling with me. My inner monologue began to weave a web of lies.
You’re too neurotic to love. Being around you is a pain. Your friends don’t want to travel with you because you make everything about you. You don’t party. You aren’t fun. You’re self-consumed, self righteous, and expensive. You’ll have to make enough money to buy love. You will never earn it for free.
I was almost in tears when I felt the Holy Spirit break through the noise. Enough. I had an option with this trip to use it for some significant clarity around some key tenets in my life, and I was not going to let self pity destroy my chance to approach the Throne of God.
So, instead of turning in on myself and drowning in misery, I began to pray.
I thanked God for the beauty that was spread out below me, and for the opportunity to witness it in what truly would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I asked Him to guide me and give me wisdom about my future, and to not leave unanswered the questions I was preparing for Him. I pled with Him to free me from the attacks of the devil, so that I could hear His voice this week and no one else’s.
And then, I prayed for the couples in front of me. For the sweet, young Muslim couple. That their marriage would be long, joyful, and blessed. That they would build a beautiful family together. That the British couple would feel rejuvenated after their time together, and recharged for their role as devoted parents. I prayed for old love and new love, the sanctity of marriage, and the restorative healing that intimate romance tends to have on weathered lovers. And I asked God that He would make mine just as sweet, if He chose to provide me with it one day.
I spend a lot a time talking to God. I approached this trip with a few key requests.
Among the most significant is guidance around my professional future.
In my current job, I am not taken seriously. I’m still not sure why the CEO of our company would pay me the salary I make just to micromanage everything I produce. I do not know what I must do to earn the social capital required to make autonomous decisions, but I’m beginning to think it is an impossible task. I can tell he doesn’t like me — that he considers my contributions marginal at best, my perspective inconsequential. I wish I knew why. I am the only woman on the leadership team, and the youngest by nine years —my gender and youthfulness are two traits that have burned me in the past. Perhaps this is my perpetual scarlet letter.
I am used to being the rockstar. In every job I’ve ever had, my managers and senior executives alike sing my praises. Everyone recognizes the value I provide. Even in my MBA program, I have been told that my name is synonymous with marketing. The smartest people I know come to me for business advice (to be frank, the reasons why still evade me). So I am not sure why the boss who hired me and signs my paychecks at my current job cannot ascertain my value in the same way. The goalposts move every two weeks, and I am left to wonder if I am a scapegoat — set up for failure.
The truth is, I am not meant to work for someone else. My entrepreneurial spirit and no bullshit attitude do not pair well with the typical CEO, especially of a proverbial startup whose value has yet to be proven. I get tired of inflated valuations and opaque-at-best value statements. Everyone claims they have something special, yet I fail to see that they do. It’s been a year and half since I’ve worked at a company that I truly, unrequitedly believed in, and that was a function of a breathtakingly talented and humble leadership team. To this day, I look up to the COO and the CEO and hope that I can lead with the character and resilience that they have shown.
About two years ago, I had a business idea that was ahead of its time. But with the rise of NFTs, that’s quickly changing. Multiple colleagues, classmates, and business executives have asked to see the measly pitch deck I produced on the idea, and their feedback is overwhelmingly positive. One of the most brilliant men I know has asked to be my business partner. I see the writing on the wall. The time is coming. If I don’t chase this, someone else will build it out from under me. The fruit is ripe for the picking.
So now, in the Maldives, I ask God for deliverance. I implore Him to provide funding for me to build my company, to exact my vision — and to finally be free of the restraints of employment. To work for myself, and build a culture similar to the one I experienced years ago at a beloved real estate startup.
I realize now that He has facilitated my most recent employment ventures for two key reasons (at least, two that are apparent to me now):
- To meet future business partners and advocates, and
- To reveal to me the pitfalls I must cautiously avoid.
As I stand in the turquoise blue waves just a few yards from the shores of Huruvhali, I ask the Lord to rescue me. The waves, rocking around me, feel like a metaphor for my career. Just beyond, the deep blue sea is grand and powerful and exciting… but I am stuck in the shallow end.
I want to lead well. To build a vision. To change the lives of my employees and my target market. I am a wealth of untapped potential and foolishness. And so amid the waves, I ask God to give me a chance. Like Gideon, I put the fleece out. Give me funding. I don’t know how much. You know what I need. I’m just asking You to provide it.
And if You don’t, I continue, please give me joy in my circumstance.
Of all the doors He’s opened, and all the desires He’s impressed upon my heart — of all the opportunities knocking on windows and waiting for me to heed, this business is the siren’s song. I feel the call.
Here I am. Send me.
Or, in the words of my future business partner — why not us?
Tossed and turned by the waves of the Maldivian ocean, I ask for provision, for guidance, and for forgiveness for my wandering mind and the myopic attention span that plagues me. I have shame for my shortcomings, for the sometimes crippling ADD diagnosis that makes me feel so worthless in worship. In response, the Spirit of God compels me.
You are enough. Jesus died to make it so. Your best is enough.
And for the first time in my life, I truly believe Him.
Midway through the week, the loneliness dissipates. In its place is a quiet confidence.
I eat in restaurants by myself and refuse to take my phone. I go on walks. I sit on public beaches. While I spend most of my time in my room or the private plunge pool outside, I force myself to interact outside of my comfort zone. And slowly, it grows more familiar.
I’m not half so bad, I think to myself. Perhaps I can get along with me.
I begin to suspect that God wanted me to conduct my first travels abroad by myself, with Him as my only companion. There is an intimacy to it. A secrecy, as if He has not yet told the world that I am His favorite. But I feel it, in the breeze and the sway of the palms and the gentle backwards spray of a wave as it greets a rock just beyond me. I am beloved. And I finally choose to accept it.
I see Him in everything, and I am torn between violent giggles and deep, chest-racking tears. You would have painted the oceans this blue even if it was just for me, wouldn’t You?
My mother reminds me to seek everything available on the table God has prepared for me. Her reminder coincides with my appeal to His provision, and His call beyond the realm of my comfort zone. I don’t know when, how, or what, but I know He provides. Again, my heart beseeches.
Here I am. Send me.
On a morning walk, a small reef shark greets me from a few steps beyond the sand bar. Rainbow-colored fish dance among the coral reefs in the lagoon opposite my villa. Tiny white birds with long, feathered tails sing in the treetops above me. I take a selfie, and I hardly recognize myself — I have never in my life looked so at peace.
In passing, someone calls me beautiful, and for the first time, I see exactly what he sees. And I agree.
On the last day of the Maldives, I am torn.
Excited to see my friends in Dubai and explore the edge of modernity together, I remain saddened to leave this little island that has taught me so much in just five short days. I promise myself that, if God so allows, I’ll honeymoon here one day. I’ll bring the man I prayed for to one of the many places in which I prayed for him, and we will rewrite memories and rejoice in the goodness of the Lord together.
Huruvalhi taught me so much about myself. In those deep blue waters, I felt as if I stood face to face with God. I made known my requests. I sought out my purpose. And, in the months that followed, He answered.
God designed the perfect job, at the perfect place, to prime me for what’s coming. He orchestrated the perfect timeline, with the perfect mentors, and the perfect challenges, to prepare me for the journey ahead. I graduated in May of 2022 just one GPA point shy of honors (enough to make me proud, but keep me humble), and I dove into my exciting new role, attempting to take the failures and successes in stride.
The work God started within me on a little island in the Indian Ocean has not stopped, and I feel myself beginning to see the outcome of His labor. The road is long, but I don’t walk it alone. What an encouraging certainty, to know I can depend on Him!
I never would have guessed that an isolated vacation a world away from home be the catalyst for change and growth, but I sit here today a far better woman than the one who cried on a seaplane. And tonight, I thank God. For the courage to travel alone. For the resources to do so. And for the island He met me on — physically, as well as spiritually.
Tonight, I pray for the couples I met on that sea plane, and the purpose I solidified in that ocean, and I can’t help but be a little bit proud of the woman I’m becoming. Maybe I’ll take her on a date this week and meet God at a coffee shop. It’s not as exciting as an island across the globe, but I think He’ll show up, nonetheless.
I can’t wait to see Him.
