Olivia Fjord Sloth on a mountain trail

PERSONAL ESSAY

I don’t have
a plan

In a few weeks, I’m leaving my job and flying to Syria on a one-way ticket.

I’ve been struggling with how to tell this story.

It’s easier to tell a story when you have a plan.

The problem is that I don’t.

I’ve realised that I’m not even sure what I’m afraid of anymore.

Is it the discomfort of not having a plan? Or is it because I don’t have a good answer when people ask me why I’m doing this?

In a few weeks, I’m flying to Syria on a one-way ticket. I’ve quit my job, rented out my apartment and, for the first time in a very long time, I don’t really know what comes next.

Normally, when I set off on an adventure, I know what success looks like. I know what mountain I’m climbing or what route I’m walking. There’s always a clear objective.

I’ve been to Syria three times before, and when I left the last time, I knew it wasn’t the end. There are still people I want to see again, places I haven’t explored and stories I’m curious about.

What scares me isn’t leaving a specific job. It’s stepping away from a career I’ve spent years building.

I love programming, solving problems and the satisfaction of finally understanding something that seemed impossible just a few hours earlier. Technology moves fast, and I sometimes wonder whether there’ll still be a place for me when I come back.

I don’t know what’s waiting for me in Syria.

What I do know is that the country has given me far more than I ever expected. I’ve learned so much from the people I’ve met, and I’ve been humbled by how many Syrians have told me that they appreciate the way I share their country.

I never expected either of those things, but they’ve made it impossible for me to ignore the feeling that I need to go back.

I’m not fearless.

But I know I’ll spend far more time wondering what would have happened if I stayed home than I ever will regret that I tried.

Over the next few months, I want to write about what happens when you step away from a life you’ve spent years building without knowing exactly what you’re moving towards.

About Syria, of course. But also about uncertainty, doubt, work, identity, responsibility and the strange feeling of choosing a path before you know where it leads.

Tent spot
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