There’s a Waligora tale that gets passed around my family far too often, resurfacing at least once a year, usually over dinner and always at my personal expense.
I was fifteen years old, standing on the Rialto Bridge in Venice, my mom to my side and gondolas drifting romantically below. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
“I have officially been everywhere I wanted to be,” I proclaimed.
At that moment, I fully meant it. There was no hint of irony whatsoever.
Some context is necessary. I come from parents who backpacked Europe before it was cool — catching night trains, figuring it out as they went and rewearing the same pair of jeans.
My family’s vacations consist of packing only a carry-on and walking around museums until our feet hurt. I don’t come from a religious family, so Rick Steves is the closest thing I have to a spiritual guide. His voice plays in my head like a guru. I hear his sweet nothings of fresh pastries and scenic backstreets and take them as gospel. I listen. I obey.
I had a fortunate childhood, traveling to several European countries, including France, England, Germany and ultimately Italy, where I made this statement. I had stood in front of enough cathedrals to feel cultured. I had confidently decided that I had seen enough of the world.
That statement is now a running joke in my household because, today, it could not be further from the truth. At the age of 21, I have never had a more vigorous appetite to see more of the world.
I have money tucked away in a savings account for graduation, reserved exclusively for whatever expedition inevitably calls to me in May. I have countless countries on my bucket list, and I keep foreign currencies in my change drawer that I consider unfinished business – I’ll spend them someday when I’m there. Fifteen-year-old Mallory would be shocked.
Since my proclamation, I learned Czech – briefly and imperfectly – for a few months in my sophomore year in Prague. I studied architecture in Paris the summer before my senior year, where I developed strong opinions about brutalism and even stronger opinions about pastries. I’ve been to countries I never once considered visiting, one of them being Japan.
“What brings you to Japan?”
“What brings you to Japan?” the man next to me asked as I slid into my seat, noticing I was traveling alone.
“Work,” I said, smiling politely.
“What kind? You look so young.”
I clocked him immediately as a Midwesterner — my flight was out of Detroit — so he was friendly, curious and absolutely not letting this conversation end.
“It’s a long story,” I said. “The Japanese Embassy is sending me to Tokyo for a week.”
That’s a sentence I never imagined I would be saying my entire life.
I never imagined I would be going to Japan. I don’t like anime or Pokémon. A 14-hour flight sounded awful, and the jet lag sounded even worse. It was one of those things that never crossed my mind. But after arriving, I promptly fell in love with the country. It was one of the best trips of my life.
I recognize that I am absurdly lucky. People save for decades to travel to Japan. Some people never make it at all. At 21, I was about to go for free.
I ended up here in a series of fortunate events.
How it happened
Last April, I was Miss New Hampshire for the Cherry Blossom Festival in D.C. I spent the week doing diplomacy work with the Japanese Embassy and shaking hands with politicians.
Somehow, against all odds, the Japanese Embassy was impressed. They liked my résumé, my energy and apparently my ability to small-talk foreign politics without embarrassing myself (thank you, Oakland University Department of Political Science).
I was selected as one of four women out of all 50 states to travel to Japan on behalf of the U.S. government for a diplomatic visit.
It felt like one of those things you simply can’t say no to: a fully funded trip to Japan — flight, accommodations and food all paid for. It was a true pinch-me moment.
On official business
So there I was, sitting on a plane somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, traveling on behalf of the U.S. government. My only task for the week? Keep my eyes and ears open, be a friendly representative of the U.S. and say yes to things.
It’s a weirdly wonderful thing traveling on behalf of someone else because it changes the way you travel. You say yes to things you normally would say no to. You feel a responsibility to experience things fully and put your best foot forward.
And this time, I was in Japan, ready to eat, drink and wander my way through the country. I was ready to sing karaoke, to try foods I couldn’t pronounce, to visit temples older than anything I’ve seen in the U.S. and to soak it all in. And if the U.S. government is reading this: I was absolutely there to work.