I have been travelling the world my entire life. My earliest memory of being on a plane was at the age of 4 when we moved to the United States and proceeded to live there until I was about 12 years old. Every year we'd step on a plane at least once. My dad's company had a travel allowance for expats that paid for one trip 'home' every year for the whole family.
Corporate benefits were so much better (and generous) in the 80s!
So for us at the time 'home' was Holland as all our relatives live there. So At least once a year we'd long haul it back to Europe. But there were plenty of other flights we took throughout the year, and even more time spent on cross-country road trips.
Because of that, Amsterdam Schiphol Airport is a very familiar place to me. Walking through there is like walking through my living room, I am immediately at ease and feel at home. I feel the same way as soon as I get onto a plane. It's like a mother's hug (unless the person before me has just destroyed the toilet with their radioactive butt-hole).
But as I have gotten older a new dimension has tracked onto my feeling of being in the air or in far away lands - a feeling of hatred/anxiety. When I was little it was the annoyance of getting up in the middle of the night to get to the airport on time (at least I could sleep in the car on the way, my dad had to drive us there the poor bastard), but now its the fact that I am responsible I guess.
Maybe not I do not know..
I have done a lot of introspection to try and get at the root cause for the side of me that now hates to travel. It wasn't always like that, I get terrible anxiety in the run up to any trip. Like I have developed a fear of the unknown. I worry. It starts about a week before I go anywhere.
I worry about; not having enough money; forgetting my passport; being late and missing my flight; getting to the hotel and being told they don't have a reservation for me; leaving the stove on; leaving any appliance on; my house burning down due to said appliance; the pipes leaking; irreparable water damage; forgetting to lock the front door; being burgled; leaving the heating on and bankrupting myself on a heating bill; being refused onto the plane; and getting stranded while abroad.
Then weirdly, as soon as I've gotten to the airport and checked in I start to calm down, past security I begin to relax. At the gate I'm cheerful and chill and by the time i've sat down and stowed my carry on I am the god damn Zen Master. I am 'The Dude' and when instructed to place our tray tables up and put our seats in the upright position .. The Dude Abides.
Me, cruising at 35,000ft waiting for the inflight drinks service. Source: Pixabay
Isn't that weird? I feel like its totally contradictory that I would feel like that.. where does this inner struggle come from and does it hold me back? Well, yes I think it does hold me back. I find I organise fewer trips and travel less because of the stress I put myself through. But in the end I will always travel and I always need to remind myself that once I get on the plane I love it. I feel relaxed, at home and excited to be under way.
So in reality there is nothing that will stop me from picking up my bag and leaving to go somewhere new.
One day I will get over it. Just like how at one point my sister developed a fear of flying which a few years later just went away again. I think what I need to do it force myself to travel more and more and eventually my brain will concede and stop opening the anxiety flood gates and the little nagging voices that say, "Go back! Go back! You left the stove one! The boiler just exploded! Everything is ruined! Why did you leave?!"
People are crazy. Myself especially.
Thanks for Looking.
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