I have friends who have traveled to countless countries, camping their way through Africa or in the jungles of India. They’ve navigated the terrain on their own without a guide or knowledge of the language. And each time they’ve returned home in one piece and with an admirable tale of adventure and traveling on one’s own.

I am so not that kind of traveler.

Remember that scene in Eat, Pray, Love where Elizabeth Gilbert describes being in Italy and holding a map in different directions trying to orient herself?

I’m that kind of traveler.

Me in Hopkins, Belize, enjoying the beach and a frozen drink.

I’m the one who waited 45 minutes for a bus, only to be delivered one block away from that bus stop at the end of the bus’s route; I had been on the wrong side of the street. I’d love to say this was an easy mistake to have made – poor signage or the understandable mishap caused by a language barrier.

But that would be a flat out lie. I was in Seattle, a city I had worked in for a couple years by that point. Obviously the signs were in English. I even had an app on my phone telling me which route to take and a GPS beacon indicating where I was relative to the bus stop. I was at a bus stop on that route, but I wasn’t at the bus stop that would get me where I wanted to go.

Even after years of navigating airports I had to ask for directions to my gate because I had absolutely no idea where that arrow was pointing. (Darn LAX, anyhow.)

I am what I like to call “the awkward traveler.”

I’ve always been amazed at my friends who travel so independently. They have an easy confidence about them, laughing jovially when plans don’t go right, relaxed in an alternative plan which may include sleeping overnight at the train station.

I’m too paranoid for that. I can stay overnight at the train station, sure, but there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep. And that one missed departure has thrown off the rest of my connections. I’ll laugh about it later, but in the moment my type A personality kicks in, and the realization of my plans in disarray smacks me in the face.

Me at Petra, overlooking the Treasury

I may look confident, but I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m doing. Even after traveling to 8 countries in a combined total of 19 weeks, I’m still going to bugger something up. Guaranteed. Whether it’s something small like forgetting to arrange transportation from the airport in Guatemala City to my homestay in Antigua, or something potentially devastating like forgetting to get my passport stamped as I crossed the land border into Jordan, I’m bound to have a mishap or ten on my trip. (I cringe thinking how that conversation would have gone trying to board the ferry from Jordan to Egypt with no evidence I legally entered Jordan…)

It’s no wonder my parents worry when I leave my hometown. God only knows where I’ll end up.

This is also why I can’t have nice things when I travel. I peruse my Travelsmith magazines longingly, adoring the cute tops and bold patterned skirts. I observed the tourists in Italy and Cambodia where ladies stroll the streets leisurely. Their hair is still held perfectly in place, not a bead of sweat on their foreheads despite the heat.

And then there’s me. A hot mess of a traveler who has to wear moisture-wicking shirts in temperatures warmer than 60 degrees because my body is so used to working in Alaska. The messy bun on my head is no longer cute and trendy. It’s downright sloppy and needs fixed. I’ve likely got a stain on my pants somewhere from a clumsy fall, or from earlier in the day when my fork missed my mouth.

That’s how I roll, y’all. Awkward, clumsy, messy, discombobulated, clueless, and probably standing at the wrong bus stop or terminal.

But does that stop me from traveling? Absolutely not.

If I’ve learned anything from my time away from home, it’s that everything always works out somehow some way. It may not be the way I had planned. It likely won’t be the picturesque vision of a competent world traveler. But one way or another it works out.

Isn’t that where some of our best stories originate anyway — when things don’t go according to plan? How boring that would be to have everything go smoothly! You could practically tell your family about your vacation before ever setting off down the road!

So I continue traveling and following that wanderlust hither and thither. I give my parents a rough itinerary before I leave home, knowing something is likely to change because of some hiccup I’ve encountered … or created. I’m learning to trust my gut, building my confidence with every trip and every change of plans, knowing that one way or another it’ll all work out OK.

But if you’re ever out traveling, whether in the US or abroad, find someone else to ask for directions. I’m probably just as lost as you are.

Are you an awkward traveler, too? Feel free to share stories in the comments!