How My Travel Writing Makes Me Feel Like a Fraud
Just because you see me on Instagram doesn’t mean you’re getting the full picture. (Photo: Christine Amorose/C’est Christine)
I received an email the other day, and the first sentence was, “You’re living my dream life.” It was flattering, and yet, a bit jarring: Am I even living my own dream life?
In all seriousness, the life I imagine in my dreams does not involve fluorescent lights and subway rats and forking over most of my paycheck to rent. And yet, those things are all part of my day-day-day routine.
I live in New York City, one of the world’s most expensive cities, a metropolis that’s crowded and cultural, stunning and dirty, the best on a good day, and the worst on a bad day. I work in an office that’s housed in an architectural gem with expansive views, but I’m still surrounded by glowing computer screens and HR policies. I trudge in with the morning commuters and rush home on the evening train, working for those two glorious days of freedom. And yet, despite that desire for for being untethered, I still spend most of my weekend cleaning the bathroom and buying groceries and squeezing in a workout.
Living the city life. (Photo: Good Vibrations/Stocksy)
In many ways, I’m living the life that I left five years ago. I quit my job in high-tech public relations because I wasn’t passionate about it. I knew that every day I continued that lifestyle would trap me deeper in a life that I wasn’t sure that I wanted.
That said, here I am: a “travel” blogger who is at home far more than in an airport.
Related: What Traveling for a Living Taught Me About Life
I feel like a fraud sometimes. Here I am, touting a life full of travel and adventure, a life where you create and follow your intentions. Yet, while I’m doing that, I feel stretched between obligations, time, and pressure I put on myself. I’m straddling two worlds: one of settled-down success in which I try to be an ambitious employee and upbeat girlfriend and chic New Yorker, and the other of a travel-lifestyle blogger who deigns to give advice (which implies that perhaps she’s figured it all out in the first place).
Writing about travel from the comfort of my home makes me feel like a walking contradiction sometimes. (Photo: Goldmund Lukic/Stocksy)
It’s a weird juxtaposition, to say the least. It’s surprisingly easy to take a photo of a door, or Central Park, or a bustling avenue, and caption it with an inspirational quote — and then, soon after, spend an indeterminate amount of time cursing the slippery streets and turning down travel opportunities and waiting on the subway platform. It is often remarkably unglamorous in real life.
I worry about whether people hate me or if it sounds like I’m bragging or if maybe life would be easier if I wasn’t trying to capture it all. I think about the things that I’m not saying when I write: that I don’t know what I want to do in my career, that I don’t have a perfect family, that I compare myself to everyone and anyone all the time. I don’t always wear a helmet when I bike because I don’t want to mess up my hair, and I don’t always wear sunscreen (even though my grandmother had skin cancer). I’m impatient and easily upset, and I can work myself into a bad mood for no good reason, and then swing back into a good mood at the drop of a coin.
Related: What’s on Your Phone? A Traveling Essay of Pictures That Reveal All
I often wonder about how much to share, about what in my life should be kept sacred from public consumption and personal promotion. I debate whether it should be balanced or aspirational. And honestly, I don’t know. I am not perfect, and this life is not perfect, and my Instagram feed is also not perfect. And the stuff that happens that doesn’t make it on my Instagram feed is far, far, far from perfect.
Related: The Dark Side of Traveling for a Living
Life seems overly perfect when you’re looking at it through an iPhone screen. (Photo: Denni Van Huis/Stocksy)
This is not a dream life. It’s just a life. My life. Sometimes it’s good, and sometimes it’s bad. Sometimes I’ll share, and sometimes I won’t. What I’m trying to say is this: Romanticizing and idealizing my life — or any life seen on the Internet, for that matter — isn’t going to improve yours. Only you can do that, because only you know what what your behind-the-scenes looks like compared to the highlight reel.
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