I’ve often said (way too often) said I’m a nervous traveler. Not on the whole when I take the time to think about it. Mainly the anxieties pop up when long distance travel is involved, like on plane trips to Disneyland and Fiji, and on a fast-approaching trip to a few parts of Europe. (Yes, I’m going to Europe – namely Amsterdam & Leiden in Holland, Paris, and parts of Italy!! In four weeks!!)
It’s like I can’t take a proper deep breath until we’re through all the checkpoints, on the plane, and then at our destination. (And this time Jeff won’t be with me. Boo.)
I’ve grown to hate this stress/nervousness/anxiety, the past couple of weeks in particular, mainly because it was quite possibly suggested in all seriousness I simply not come, then, on the trip if everything was stressing me out that much*.
*In my defense: Work keeps bringing new … fun things to the table. Or so it seems. Not in my defense: I briefly tried to take on also cleaning/organizing my house at the same time as a few other things. Like work and getting ready for a trip and all the other every day stuff. Fortunately: My mom talked me out of the house stuff. Thanks again, Mom.
I want to enjoy this trip. I want to enjoy getting ready for this trip, being on the trip, and arriving home from the trip.
Now, I know there are whole bunches of things between departing from and arriving back home I cannot control. But as I’ve had to remind myself over the last few days, I can’t control most things over the course of a typical day. But I don’t lock myself up in my house as a result. I still get out of bed each day, go places, meet with and talk to people and do all sorts of things with nary a thought of what could go wrong.
So why do it with holiday travels? I mean, seriously? Why let fear about “maybes” dull things so?