I've tried to write another piece for this blog ever since I posted the first, and I feel so lost on what to say. They say that if you just sit down and start writing, the words will eventually come to you. Well, here I am; writing! I am still not too sure what I should be saying.
I thought I might write about my fears and anxiety that seem to accompany me while I plan this trip. I keep trying to reassure myself that, while they may continue to grow as my departure date draws near, they should dwindle and fade away the moment I set foot on the plane... I hope so anyways. I've gone backpacking before, travel is not something that is new to me. This trip, however, is the biggest I've chosen to go on. Circumnavigation aside, I am going to some places that I know are going to blow my mind from a cultural and historic standpoint. I am heading around the world to try to do what I can to help people who need it. Every time I wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding with an unshakable and apprehensive tension, I remind myself of that. I remind myself of the fact that it's good to be afraid.
My fear is a condition of the comfort and safety of the world in which I was raised. I'm scared because 'What if I don't have enough while I'm gone' keeps racing through my mind. I'm almost angry with myself that I'm letting an undefined monetary price point torture me the way it does. I am scared of what happens when I get back; I am scared of where I put my things; I am scared I might lose out on something; I am scared of being scared.
And in those frightful moments of sweat soaked panic, that reminder in my heart sets in so deeply and such a resounding calm washes over me. I am travelling so I can see the World. I am travelling to try to help at least one person. I am travelling to try to help myself. I am travelling for the right reasons, and I know it will all work out.
