Before the Flight

I kinda wanted to be a free spirit with all of this. Pack the clothes I needed into a backpack, take my ukulele as a carry-on, and get on a plane. All I really need is my phone, my wallet, and my passport. Everything else can be replaced. 

But it was my practical self that packed, the self that waited until the outlets were having their spring sales and bought all the winter clothes I’d need, the self that knows I’ll need gym clothes and interview clothes, the self that understands that we’ve already invested in a wardrobe that we like and don’t need to start over. My practical self knows that I’ll feel much less alone if I bring along a couple of things to make my room more mine. My practical self understands my underlying sentimentality. 

Whew. Today's the day. The excitement is getting here. The nervous, wonderful, terrifying excitement. 

See, and that’s my problem. Mentally, I’m super capable. I’ve done my research, I’ve got it covered, I’ll figure it out. Travel isn’t hard once you know what you’re doing. Moving to a new place is stressful, sure, but it’s doable. Moving to a new country has its own hassles, but people do stuff like this all the time. In my brain, I’ve got it all under control. 

But every once in a while, the feelings poke through and the feelings are VERY CONCERNED. Like, have you realized that YOU’RE MOVING TO ANOTHER COUNTRY? That there will be NO ONE THERE TO HELP YOU? That all you have in the world is the money in your checking account and the three bags you’re bringing with you? That you have to get those bags all the way into the city from the airport? Have you considered how deeply YOU CAN FAIL? 

I’m going to be fine. I know that I’m going to be fine. My feelings, hyperventilating over in that corner, don’t know that, but I know them. As soon as I’m settled, they’ll be kicking back with the rest of me, asking why we were ever worried in the first place. All the same, I am really doubtful that I’m ever going to be comfortable until I’m settled, firmly settled in a place I can call home for five years, minimum. So, practically, I should settle and take some of this underlying stress out of the pit of my stomach. Then again, I don’t want to settle in the wrong place and have to try again in a couple of years, so maybe I should just get used to the discomfort of unsettledness until I figure out how, exactly, I want to make it go away.

We all want to feel like we’re part of something, you know? 

I’m getting closer to owning that feeling.