My hand swells up to twice its size, oozing clear liquid, and i've never felt better. About four days prior, I was traversing the notable Besseggen Ridge located in one of Norway's many beautiful National Parks, Jotunheimen. As I was walking up the ridge, my gaze fell on a hefty pile of sheep poop covered in wasps. A second later, I felt a sharp pain in my hand that persisted for a few minutes after. One of the little buggers had gotten me! How do I communicate with these creatures that I mean no harm, and that I am simply passing by. But - perhaps I was to step on the wasp or its friend unknowingly. Thus, the unavoidable harm big creatures inflict on the littles. I grimaced and accepted the price of my passage through this beautiful land.
For the days that passed, my hand began to slowly grow in size like a water balloon. Opening and closing my hand became more painful, and the swelling started to spread to my knuckles; my DIY boxing glove. Yet, I thought, it could definitely be worse, and I had things to do. So, I continued my solo-pilgrimage of hiking every corner I could in Norway. My feet crunched through snow, slid on ice, gripped rocks, and floated on moss. Each step pulled me deeper into myself. Each hour spent without speaking made me feel as if I was fading further and further into the inanimate flora surrounding me.
One evening I took a grueling walk up a mountain to rest my head in a remote off-grid cabin. The walk took two hours, and there was no trail besides faded red slashes of paint on ancient trees. Within approximately 10 steps into the forest, I was completely soaked. Ferns and tall grasses were ladened with endless dew that slid easily onto my oversaturated pants that clung to my waterlogged legs. As I finally approached the cabin, I didn't feel completely human anymore. No, I felt like an extension of this mossy otherworldly place. I felt as though moss would begin to cover my own body like the bark of the trees, with mushrooms growing from my ears and ladybugs making home in the tendrils of my hair. I felt that I wouldn't quite mind this metamorphosis.
There comes a point in solitude when you start to feel invisible. This invisibility feels less negative and more magical. Transformation begins, but also intense observation of not only flora but fauna. I saw other people without feeling seen myself; a well-meaning voyeur. This feeling is as humbling as it is enthralling. It is as connecting as it is disconnecting - depending how you look at it.
Little did I know during my adventures that the wasp, as painful as it was, actually gave me a priceless gift, not just infection. I sat waiting for a plane in Stockholm, icing my swollen hand. A man sat a few seats down watching something on his phone. He glanced at my busted hand, and I quickly explained that I didn't have an infectious disease and that I had simply been in an unwanted quarrel with a bee. The man's concern grew quite fast as I took the ice off and revealed my red and angry appendage. He insisted on going and getting me antihistamines which I strongly declined for no good reason. After he had calmed down from his amplified sympathetic concerns which I found quite endearing, we got to chatting for the hours leading up to our flight. In this time, I learned that he was from England and was a father with a daughter my age. He had just finished a bi-yearly two week sailing trip with his long-time buddies around the Swedish islands. We chatted about everything including politics, careers, and the meaning of life. When we ended our lengthy conversation, I felt rejuvenated and energized, much like when I end a long hike.
This simple yet significant interaction stuck with me, partly because it emerged from a bee sting, and partly because of the surprising energy born from such a simply human interaction. Sometimes I get into the headspace of thinking that all I need is a trail, tree, or both. Although this can be true many times, I also found confirmation that I, much like most people, crave genuine and organic connection wherever I go.
Even when embarking on an adventure centered around solitude, connection is essential. I view vital connection as a triangle, and in each of the corners is self, environment, and people. I connected with myself during the hours and days spent in my own thoughts. I connected with the environment while being fully immersed in various natural landscapes both physically and mentally. I connected with people through spontaneous interactions that lasted as short as a smile or as long as a three hour conversation. Complete connection is a beautiful blending and fulfillment of the three corners. One can not rely on one without the others - yet another testament to the importance of balance, (a topic that seems to ring through every blog I write).
The bee continued to work its magic in bringing upon more interactions that started with something like, "Is your hand okay?" and ended with something along the lines of, "So do you feel fulfilled in your life?" I suppose I should mention that when I returned home form my travels, I popped a Benadryl and was soon healed, (an easy solution that might have saved me some pain earlier). Even so, I do not take back any swelling whatsoever because I wouldn't have connected with the handful of people that I did because of the injury. Sure, I would have connected with people without the bee sting, but the path would have been different - the ripple effect forever changed.
Indulging in the magical feeling of being invisible when solo traveling is a wonderful experience, but not to take the place of others forms of connection as well. I will always reflect back on that wasp as a stinging reminder of my visibility while traveling and both the responsibility and opportunity that comes with the act of moving through a place.
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