I pass over the river Drau at night. I’m in Villach. I keep forgetting the name. Anyway it seems that I couldn’t find another ride for Udine today, or for anywhere in Italy, or for any other place south from here.

Some hours ago as it started to get dark, I started to accept the fact. Or rather, I started to work very hard to not accept the fact. I started to look for trains and buses, I went on Blablacar, I looked at Couchsurfing and Airbnb, googled the price of hostels, anything to not be in the rain and in the cold tonight. I’m scared of it. I still don’t have a tent, and even though the temperature shouldn’t drop below 3C (a number that in this case I am not very fond of but with my gear will surely survive), everything, everything, everything is wet.

In need of a task or a sense of a plan, I started walking to the central station, knowing that on the minute I would miss the last bus to Udine and would have to figure something out. I have committed to this way of travel, right now not paying for transport or for housing, and I want to follow through. I want to own my stupidity.

I have read about the cool vagabonds, the ones dropping out of society (out of will, not unlucky circumstances, mind!), who busk on the streets if they need some money, maybe couchsurf and if that isn’t available, just casually sleep on a bench in the park.

That isn’t me. In the dark, I feel small and soft and scared. I want to hide, but more than anything I want to not be cold and wet.

In the midst of my turmoil, I am amused at how much stress this causes me and I am intrigued by my process.

I picture the bridge over Drau breaking and me falling into the brown water with all of my stuff. I picture how quickly I would release the heavy backpack from me and how I would let it sink to the bottom with no hesitation. Keeping the stuff that I have that is very much helping me stay alive and comfy would in this situation mean nothing to me. How quickly priorities change.

And there, I suddenly feel like I understand the concept of living from hand to mouth. Because if you live in conditions where you don’t have the ability to make long-term plans, it just becomes so much more natural that as soon as you have any resources available you use them to sustain yourself, as you’re so mal-sustained. It makes sense to buy a good meal and eat it, instead of saving the money to the future because that future might just not come. Just as I am fidgeting to abandon my ideas, because I am scared and uncomfortable.

And I realize that I don’t know the extent of my privilege and I will probably never know. Even as I’m trying to be aware of the privileges I have while doing these stupid things.

I’m putting myself into a mess that I realize few people would choose. I realize that anyone who has the option, anyone living from hand to mouth would in my position of course check into a hotel or pay whatever to just be more OK. But I guess this is where it gets interesting for me to experience my boundaries. I’m afraid of having a bad night of bad sleep, I’m afraid of violence, I’m afraid of cold, but I know and I remember that in my life I’ve gone hundreds of nights without sleep and I’ve still been OK.

The bridge doesn’t brake and I miss the bus. I go into a small waffle shop, order a cup of hot tea and ask to charge my phone as I look over the map of Villach. I feel committed to my stupid trip and my stupid plan and decisiveness replaces my anxiety. The rain subsides, too. I accept that this will be shitty.

…

(This story told in pictures.)