Through Someone Else’s Eyes

On a mountainous road in southern Serbia between Leskovac and Vranje, I saw myself through someone else’s eyes. 

We’d been cycling up the hills for hours at a snail’s pace, each dragging our own baggage along behind us. I’d been haemorrhaging money from before we’d even left, and my fragile eggshell ego had been shattered and unpicked a fragment at a time, as I revealed myself to be close to useless in our two-man team. Also, I’d brought a 4-set of heavy pliers that I had precisely no use for. 

James has always been impressive to me. He’s disciplined, rigorous, and brave – all things I feel I lack. He’d been our navigator and camp finder for the majority of the trip. This was partially by dint of the fact that I couldn’t afford to pay roaming fees outside of the EU, but also because he was better at it than I was. In fact, what I’d come to realise was that James was better at everything than I was.

I failed at keeping track of time and it caused us to leave late every morning. I’d been injured since day one because I hadn’t trained at all before starting the 4000km trek, and I had decided to ignore the dwindling funds in my account, meaning I was now surviving on 58 euro from Hungary to Greece. It was clear to me that all I could offer was my ability to keep going. That was the sum total of my contribution to our expedition –  attendance. And I knew James knew it too. 

…because failing feels like winning if you can spin it into a good enough yarn.

I’ve always felt comfortable occupying the role of comedy punching bag throughout my life because failing feels like winning if you can spin it into a good enough yarn. So when by the end of day 2 I had no voice, saddle sores and a knee that would send electric shocks from my ankle to my hip on every rotation, I took my place at centre stage and started spinning. 

But between the jabs at myself, I threw swipes at James. I didn’t want to be the failure again. I hated that he seemed to take all of this in his stride – why couldn’t he be the one to struggle? Thus laced within every interaction there were the tendrils of sabotage – I couldn’t fathom picking myself up, so I tried to tear him down. In truth, all I wanted was for him to envy something about me. To prove I had something that he didn’t –  just to know I had value. But he didn’t. Why would he? I was a broken mess of a man with bitterness and negativity simultaneously buoying me and dragging me under. I only spoke to moan, my jokes were spiky and angry and generally centred around how he had it so easy. I had revealed myself to be an ugly, pathetic person. 

I could see myself doing it, yet I didn’t stop. 

So as we cycled up the mountain, slowly curving around a bend, I bit my tongue and fought the urge to complain about how hot it was, or how the flies swamped around me, and we couldn’t cycle fast enough to get away from them. I kept my eyes on the road, 1ft in front of my tyre, swatting around my face and huffing quietly to maintain a rhythm when I spotted something in my periphery. 

Ahead of me was a tortoise, plodding painstakingly slowly across a blind bend on a road that, albeit far removed, was technically a part of the main expressway between Serbia and Greece. 

“Wait a sec!” I call to James, who is slightly ahead of me, leading the charge towards another successful checkpoint met. I read irritation in his body language as he cuts his metronomic rise short. 

I step off my bike and feel the familiar jelly-like reminder in my legs that follows an intense ride. I waddle towards the unwitting Frogger knock-off and pick it up by its shell, ferrying it the rest of the way and placing it in the undergrowth on the side, looking around for what seemed like the most edible shrub, before realising I had no idea what that might be. I turn to James with the tortoise still in my hands, its head bobbing in and out of its shell. 

“What do you think it eats?” I ask, presuming he had a better knowledge of Eastern European wildlife diets than I did. He regards me for a moment, then shrugs. I survey the options again and pick one at random, mounting my bike after I’d done so and continuing on our way. 

Months after we’d finished our mission, James and I are picking over the intricacies of what happened together and he recounts the tale from his perspective.

“You looked around at me with this wide-eyed innocence, it really reminded me of a child.” 

And as he said it, I saw it too – but I wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed, I was touched by it. I’d not only wanted to save the animal from harm but also sought to find it comfort. I’d momentarily forgotten my wounded ego and asked for help from the person I thought might know better. 

The trip confronted me with who I am a lot, and most of the time, it was someone that I wished I wasn’t. But at that specific moment, I saw exactly who I hoped I was.