Cold Feet.

I had a meltdown today in the Walmart parking lot and resorted to calling my sister (who just had Heidi a week ago) to talk me off the ledge. I’m not talking about a bad phone call, I’m talking about ugly crying and streaky tears as soon as she said hello. This is a pretty solid outline as to how my pre-departure gitters are going.

She reminded me that despite the weeks of preparing, the constant updating of to-do lists, I’ll never be ready for this adventure (I, too, was surprised by this realization). But haven’t I been ready for this adventure since I got off the plane and entered Bolivia three September’s ago? Isn't this what essentially live for? I work to travel, literally. And now I’m traveling and it’s taken a lovely Nurse at the Pretentious Travel Clinic and half a bottle of wine to make my anxiety calm down. I’ve just learned what a tension headache really is – as it’s been residing in my brain for the last three days. 

I love my life. I really do. Sacrificing reliable cars, a house to call my own and even relationships is something I just do: for the love of traveling. Who cares that the boy who has forever circled my life just told me he’s twitterpated over anther gal and I’ve just put my down payment on a non-refundable trip to a developing country. He’s found his soul mate and I’ve opted for a solo trip to Asia. What the shit? I suppose that’s why I felt so nauseous after eating my veggie dinner,  because I can’t help wonder what the hell do I do if I end up hating Asia. What do I say to people when I tell them I’m second guessing my badass lifestyle and I’m wishing that perhaps I’m back in the ‘hoof with my easy-peasy job and that suppose I really, finally did ask out that dreamy boy who runs the Bearhead (so what if he doesn’t drink?).

Truthfully, I’m worried about what people will say if I die on the Annapurna Circuit before spending all my savings or I get abducted on the taxi ride on the way to the hostel. I’m terrified they would whisper to one another that this is simply the consequence of living a dream and going against all North American standards of the conception of normality. People who live hard get what they deserve: a life of solitude because no one can quite keep up and/or relate to such recklessness, am I right? They sure will tell me so when I end up unsatisfied by choosing a life of continental adventure and journals rather than a life of comfort and unnecessary kitchen amenities.

But, if we’re being truthful here, which I try to on this Blog, I would admit that I’m wondering if I’ve made the right choices: the flight rather than the boy, the international food rather than the local job and the good time rather than the long time. I fly out in twenty four hours and I’m questioning everything I’ve ever worked towards and everything I’ve ever sacrificed to make that happen. For once I'm questioning my norms and not societies. Would it had been better had I sticked to the Odgen house and the corporate job? Would the outcome be more on my side if I talked about The Ring rather than The Trip?

So when they ask you what to get the girl who has everything, which means she’s doing everything she could ever hope for, instead of getting her more of the same, perhaps try getting her a sticky note reminding her that she’s made the right choice, the hard choice. 

Sincerely,

One very scared girl.

Sometimes the fear won't go away, so you have to do it afraid.