I can’t believe it’s actually time to pack up and leave. I have been waiting for this day for a while, but now that it’s actually here I am freaking out. It’s an anxiety that’s both good and bad. I’ve been gearing up for this trip for a while now, and I’ve heard a lot of “advice.” For future reference, I’m going to give you some advice about giving people advice before they leave the country alone.
The last thing they want and/or need to hear:
“Don’t die/get kidnapped/sold into sex slavery.”
The most frustrating part of my preparation for this trip is the apparent doubt my loved ones have about my common sense and judgement. I’d like to say I have a solid head on my shoulders. I’m confident in my ability to sense vulnerable situations, and I promise I will try everything within my power to avoid being killed or raped. It’s not something I would like to happen either.
Some good advice to give a friend traveling abroad sounds more like:
“Take so many pictures! Live in the moment. This is going to be the adventure of a lifetime.”
There are a handful of cheerleaders on my bench, and I’m extremely thankful for them. Getting ready to pack up everything and leave for an indefinite amount of time is stressful. A positive attitude is incredibly important, and I appreciate the people who have surrounded me with nothing but love and support.
It’s now 4:30pm, and I’m leaving tomorrow at noon. I have mostly everything laid out into piles to take with me, but I’m definitely not packed yet. I’m feeling both physically and mentally anxious. The only way I’ve ever been able to put my finger on this feeling is to compare it to cliff jumping into a body of water. I know I’m going to have a steady sense of uncertainty until I close my eyes and just jump. I am sure that the moment my feet hit the water my anxiety will be replaced with exuberance.