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Writer's pictureJeeyoon Kim

The Road Less Cautious

In the summer of 2000, as a sophomore undergraduate student in Korea, I decided to travel to Europe alone during my summer break. I remember the exciting moment of sharing my decision with Mom. She asked how long I would travel, and I said, “Not decided. I saved up about $1000 and will be back when I run out of cash.”


I thought this would be about a month-long trip to Germany, Austria, or maybe Prague in the Czech Republic or other adjacent countries that I would feel like visiting, depending on the whims of the moment. I purchased an open-date return airline ticket, so I could get a ticket home whenever I decided to return. I would visit Mozart’s house and maybe where Beethoven or Schubert lived, too! I was beyond excited about this sole adventure for the first time abroad.


I carried only one backpack with minimal contents. (At this point, alas, a lost skill.) My first destination was Freiburg, a small city in Germany. I had heard it had a great music school and wanted to experience a small German town. I welcomed the foreign culture: the city tram system, the smell of fresh baguettes in the morning, salami sandwiches, a street paved with small stones, and even the idea of stores that closed at 6 p.m. In Korea, everything would be open at least until 2 a.m., if not 24 hours. The idea of closing stores this early didn’t make sense to me. Where do people go after work?


Back then, there was no fancy device like a smartphone. My only navigational tool on this adventure was the travel guidebook Lonely Planet, which I studied every night, making notes and planning where to visit or where to stay next.


The first challenge I faced was when I visited Prague. Until then, I could easily find a room at a youth hostel without planning days in advance. Despite its beauty, this city was different from the cities in Germany. A bit wilder, loud, loose, and full of travelers from all over the world. On the first day, I had difficulty finding a room. The day was getting darker, and I started to become anxious. I certainly didn’t want to sleep on the street. I felt tired from carrying my heavy backpack and walking all day, but I had no other choice but to knock on youth hostels one by one to see if any had a room to spare. After hours of searching late into the night, I finally found one hostel that had a single bed available on top of double-bunk beds in a dorm room.


Thank God, finally!


Walking into the dorm room, I quickly realized that I’d never experienced sleeping in a true dorm room setting in a youth hostel. About 20 double-bunk beds were lined up in a tiny room, occupied primarily by guys, most minimally clothed, resting and chatting with each other. For a moment, I wondered if I had walked into the wrong room by mistake. I acted normal, as if this setting were comfortable. In reality, I badly wanted to escape somewhere else. Anywhere but there! However, considering the small budget and resources I had that night, I knew that this was my best option. For the first time on this trip, I realized how brave I had been to embark on it all alone as a young girl.


Almost toward the end of the two months of traveling, I was counting my last few dollars. I knew the end of the trip was near. When I saw a phone booth on a sidewalk, I walked toward it and picked up a phone to call Mom with my last international phone card, which I had saved from the beginning of this trip. With one ring, Mom picked up the phone. “Yeoboseyo? (‘Hello’ in Korean)”


How nice to hear her voice . . . I felt a huge sense of relief and homesickness all at the same time. I felt tears forming, but I held them back. I didn’t want Mom to worry. I realized how unconsciously I had been keeping my guard up to protect myself and figuring out everything on my own on this trip. I had been in survival mode for the last two months.


“Mom, I am ready to be back. I am tired . . .”


The truth was that I had had an amazing experience; I visited places that appeared to have sprung from a storybook, eaten new foods, and met adventurers, locals, and fellow travelers, who taught me how to see the world from a broader perspective. At the same time, I faced many dangerous situations from which I miraculously emerged on all occasions. All my memories—good and bad—were worthy of my experience. I felt like I had matured at least five years during a trip of two months.


On the plane back to Korea, letting out a huge exhalation, I pondered one thing about my mom that I hadn’t noticed before.


My mom has never told me, “Be careful!”


No matter how crazy it might look on the surface, such as traveling alone abroad as a young girl for two months without any solid plan, she just let me experience it on my own. There was never a boundary that she had drawn for me beforehand. I was the one who could judge what to do in a given situation. I realize how unique this feature is as a parent. A single mom, to add even another dimension. Who doesn’t say “be careful” to a child?


I was thankful for who she was, and I was thankful that I had that freedom around which I could develop my own sense of responsibility.


The dual meaning of “be careful” is “be afraid.”


How many times has each of us said this sentence, failing to realize that it could hinder our ability to explore freely?


The truth is that once one becomes a wiser individual, one learns what healthy boundaries are for being safe or not safe. Before we say “be careful” to someone or ourselves without thinking, I would like to make some other suggestions:


“Let’s experiment.”
“Let me try.”
“Be wise.”
“Be brave.”
“Have fun!”

Those days of sleeping in a dorm room in a bunkbed are now a thing of the past for me. However, I am glad to have been able to experience life at that time in a style that I could have done only in my youth. I am thankful I bravely opened that door without the phrase “Be careful,” holding me back in my head.


What experience did you have in your youth that made you think you were brave? Please share it with me!


Have a wonderful week!

💕Jeeyoon







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