If you’ve ever heard of the Ubud Art Market, then you’ve probably also heard of the “Bali bag.” It’s a beautiful style of woven material that makes the perfect accessory for any traveller. Bali bags come in different shapes, but most typically, you’ll see people sporting the round ones with colourful fabric linings. And you can find them at any tourist stand; the Balinese know that, for some reason, many travellers think they “need” this bag.
I was no exception, even though I wanted to be. See, I didn’t want just any Bali bag. I wanted to find one that was classically Bali but also made me seem unique. I was looking for something with a little je ne sais quoi, parce que I was that traveller. So on my last day in Ubud, I made it my mission to find a Bali bag that somehow set me apart from all the other tourists. And I had just one morning left to find it.
Let me walk you through what that morning looked like. I may or may not have found the perfect bag, but what I for sure found was a lesson on self-care and shame. This story isn’t the most flattering, but it’s important. It’ll remind you to check your shame narrative whenever it gets in the way of you going after what you want – besides a cute accessory. In this post, we’re talking about how to relentlessly pursue your passion while staying in your own (important) lane.
Now, the first time I visited the market in Ubud, I was a bit overwhelmed. Every stand sold Bali bags, and they all looked the same or similar. And as I walked through the market, everyone was friendly, whether or not I bought from them. I wondered if it was an obligatory kindness, a plea almost, to stop and chat and look to buy. In this way, I was uncomfortably aware of the need to please the tourist – to please me.
Except for at one stand, where I met an older lady sitting calmly with focused attention on her bags. She inspected her merchandise, carefully rearranging things, as if she were getting her family ready for a group photo. This lady was so unbothered by the traffic around her, and she had the most friendly aura. She seemed like someone’s grandmomma. Not only because she was older, but also because she looked like she’d be ready to give you a hug and a bowl of soup if you needed one. I figured she would give me a fair price if I asked her how much the bags cost. And she did.
That day, I saw dozens of bags. Each of them was beautiful, but none of them was unique.
On day two, I made the awful mistake of wearing pants that I’d bought at the market the day before. Why?! Why, why, why did I do that, y’all? Everyone knew I was a tourist.
“Miss, buy another! Buy another,” they’d encourage me.
Now, these were some of the most skillful salespeople I’d ever met. They offered me versions of the wrap around bottoms that I already had and now I have three pairs of them! But when I asked about my Bali bag, almost no one matched the price my Balinese grandmother had given me. I was losing hope that I’d find a bag that I loved, and the vendors were losing hope that I’d actually make a purchase.
Until day three. At this point, I’d walked through the market at least five times. I discovered that some vendors were close friends, and if you couldn’t find what you wanted at their stand, they’d walk you right over to their neighbour and help them sell you exactly the piece you were looking for. I knew that if you got there near closing, you’d get the best prices. And I also knew that I only had 60 minutes before I needed to leave for my next stop in Bali, which was Canggu.
So that morning, I found my bag. I arrived as early as I could and curved through the aisles like the straw around a Bali bag. I enjoyed the shade of the multi-coloured umbrellas that protected each storefront, and I noticed the little things that I’d missed on the other days when it was busier. The bag that I bought was round with white straw instead of brown. It had beautiful fabric both on the inside and out. Its strap was a tan colour, and the bag actually had a few pockets, which most of the others hadn’t.
I wish I could tell you that I got it from my Balinese grandmother, but I couldn’t find her that morning. Someone else was setting up her stand and so all I had was the memory of her kind and calm demeanour. When I’d asked her the price of her bags, she gave me a number and a smile. When I told her I’d keep looking, she didn’t run after me with a new price. She simply nodded and kept at her work.
She was confident in what she had to offer and in the fact that she’d make her sales to the right people. I wasn’t the right people. She didn’t need to sell any of her bags to tourists who wanted to prove they were different. She didn’t need to sell anything to me, a passerby who was searching for something to show that she was special in comparison to other travellers.
In essence, my Balinese grandmother taught me that in order to do what you’re meant to, and in order to do it consistently, you have got to be kind and you have got to be confident. You have to know that what you have to offer is unique and special just because.
My Balinese grandmother showed me what it looked like to be confident and kind. She stood firm, knowing that she was offering a great item at a fair price. And she was so warm and honest that I would have bought from her if I could find her again. Her confidence pulled me towards her. Her kindness made a home in my love memories forever.
I’m not sure why I thought I had anything to prove in being “unlike” other travellers. I don’t know why I thought finding a “unique” Bali bag would prove I was special.
Up until that point, travel had been a form of self-care, rather than a form of comparison for me. Yet somehow – no, somewhere among Instagram and Youtube searches of what to do and see in Ubud – I adopted the worry that I wasn’t unique enough. That I wasn’t a cool enough traveller.
In contrast, my grandma in Ubud couldn’t care less what other vendors were selling or charging. She just sat content making her art, firm in her knowledge that the right customers would come her way.
Although I didn’t buy my bag from her, she taught me something that was priceless: stay in your own stand and offer your own gifts. There are more than enough “tourists” who would love to have what you’re selling. People are looking for what you bring, and they want a Bali bag from you. It doesn’t matter that other people have done it before. It matters that you’re doing it too, with confidence and consistency.
Back in Toronto, I ended up giving the bag I bought away. It wasn’t because I had developed some emotional maturity when I returned; I just realized I hadn’t gotten someone a souvenir when I should have. I literally had to give myself a pep talk before handing over the bag that’d I’d searched long and far for.
Now back at home, this message of enoughness is one that I come back to time and time again. It requires me to focus on what’s truly important rather than on the symphony of other people’s dreams. If you’d like to get clear on what matters most to you, join my email community and I’ll send you a free focus planner.
It’s a fillable PDF to help you refocus on your dreams because so many times, we’re stuck on the idea that we’re not enough. That we’re not unique enough and that our passions aren’t special enough. And this just isn’t true. Our community is all about making time for the things that matter to you, and this worksheet will help you do that. So, see you in your inbox or in the next blog post. (This previous post from my time in Bali is a great one too!)