In Which I Freak Out About My Trip

I leave in nine days. Just over a week from this moment and I'll be boarding a plane aimed for Amsterdam. I'll be in Europe. An entirely different continent.

I've been planning this trip for a year. Dreaming about it for a lifetime.

(This is from a couple days ago, but it still stands.)

I can't see myself there. I try to imagine getting off the plane, leaving the airport, taking a bus (or something...still need to research this) from the airport to my hostel. Checking in. Wandering the canal-lined streets.

I can't see it.

But I can feel it.

Every time I try to envision it, my heart races, my feet cool, my face heats. I can almost feel my stomach drop as the plane ascends. I try to think about doing all the things I've dreamt about--and I'm utterly overcome with disbelief that it will happen.

It's happening, though. It's real. The tickets are bought, the hostel is booked. I'm going to Europe. Alone.

HOW did this happen? How did I sum up the courage and/or stupidity to buy that first ticket?

I don't feel brave. I know I've said this, but it's still true. I'm so scared. What if I can't do it? What if I get there and I freeze? Break down? What if I have to book a ticket back home before I even leave the airport?

I think that's my biggest fear. Not pickpockets, or running out of money, or not being able to communicate, or getting lost. It's the fear that I won't even give myself the chance to try.

It's one thing to book the flight. An entirely different thing to actually get on the plane.

I have to do it. Not because I don't want to disappoint anyone or waste the money I've already spent. But because I owe it to myself. I need to make this dream a reality. I need to go out in the world--alone--and find out who I am. I need to give myself the chance to try, to claim that independence, that confidence, those experiences for myself.

This trip is for me and only me. It's not to reclaim these places from my past or to make anyone jealous. I know that on the other side, when I come back, I'll be a different person.

And while that is a thrilling thought, it's also a scary one.

Change is scary. New things are scary. The whole damn world is scary.

I just want to be brave enough to face it.

I hope I will be.

I KNOW I will be.

In the meantime, I should probably put all this nervous energy into finishing the revision on my damn book...

Feel the Fear

Forty-five days.

Forty. Five. Days.

October 2nd, 2016.

Forty-five days away.

Excuse me while I have a nervous breakdown.

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...okay.

So. Yes. In forty-five days, I'll be boarding a plane aimed for Europe.

Amsterdam, Italy--north to south--and Paris.

Just over three weeks.

By myself.

People tell me I'm brave.

I don't feel brave.

I feel terrified and crazy and anxious. But not brave.

I had a meltdown the other day. It occurred to me that, once I arrive in Europe, I'll have no idea where anything is. My exact thought process looked a little something like this:

"What if I can't find the grocery store in Florence? I'm gonna starve. I'M GONNA STARVE TO DEATH IN ITALY!"

Right. Starve to death. In Italy.

This is what my brain has become. A constant stream of nonsensical fears and neuroses.

I'll be fine. I know this. I'll be fine and I'll come home stronger, more confident. Changed.

I'm looking forward to it.

You know, in between the meltdowns.

The quote. Yes, it was Pinterest.

I read a quote somewhere the other day. Pinterest, probably. It was something like, "Feel the fear and do it anyway."

Well, that's what I'm doing. Each step of the way. From buying that first ticket to booking my hostel in Amsterdam. I'm terrified, but I want this more. I want to see and experience new things. I want to venture out all by myself, to discover new things about myself and the world. I want to claim the independence and confidence that has been just out of reach for most of my adult life.

I want to come home changed. Stronger. Braver.

And, dammit, I want gelato.

And so, in forty-five days, I'll get on that plane.

But that doesn't mean I won't freak out until then.

Forty-five days, guys.

Shit.

IWSG: Doing the Thing That Scares You

A couple months ago, I did something. Something big. Something scary. Something I have always wanted to do.

I bought a ticket to Europe.

Not as part of a group tour, or a cruise. A single, solitary, one-way ticket to Amsterdam.

The moment I confirmed the purchase, my stomach fell straight to my toes. What was I doing? Who did I think I was, planning a solo trip thousands of miles away from home? I wasn't that brave!

Here's a secret, though: I AM that brave.

We all are.

Life, I have come to learn, is often choosing to do the thing that scares you. It's not easy, and there are a million reasons NOT to do it, but what's the worst that could happen?

Given, of course, that the thing that scares YOU is not, like, committing murder or jumping off a high-rise. DON'T do those things. They're scary for a reason.

But buying a ticket to Europe? Applying for a job you really want? Asking that cute dude out that you see every day at the coffee shop (probably not for coffee, though)? Yes. Do those things.

Moments after buying my ticket.

Because the worst that could happen is that you fail. You get lost in the streets of Florence. You don't get the job. The cute dude says no. You're still okay.

This applies to writing, as well. A book idea that scares you might turn out to be the best thing you've ever written. Joining a writing group could earn you some new friends (and writer friends are the best) and maybe some solid advice. And self-publishing the book babies you've put your heart and soul into for years...

Okay. That last one is super scary, no matter how much optimism I sprinkle over it.

But, just like that ticket to Amsterdam, I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna do the thing that scares me. Because what's a life spent sitting on the sidelines while others chase their dreams?

What scares YOU (writing-wise or not)?

Wanderlust Wednesday - Amsterdam

So, it’s Wednesday. Time for my weekly daydream post. This week’s destination: Amsterdam.





Now, before any of you jump to conclusions, I don’t want to visit Amsterdam for the same reasons others might. I’m not interested in legalized marijuana or the red light district. Anyone who knows me would know that’s preposterous – and extremely laughable.



The sole reason why I’ve always wanted to visit Amsterdam is to see this place:



The Anne Frank House. When I was twelve, we read The Diary of Anne Frank in English class and I was astounded by the courage and eloquence this young girl – not much older than me at the time – possessed. Ever since, I’ve had a fascination with her. She has been the subject of many high school and college papers and she has inspired me beyond words.



A friend of mine visited the Anne Frank House a few months ago, and she said that there’s a feeling you get as soon as you walk in, like the spirits of all the people who lived there are still wandering the rooms. I can only imagine that feeling…

To be honest, I don’t know much else about Amsterdam, but it looks beautiful, doesn’t it?








Alright, that's all for tonight. Idol Gives Back is on, so I'm going to watch it and then write a little before bed. Tomorrow: I pass on the award that the super-sweet E. Elle gave me!