Here’s something I’ve been hearing a lot of lately:
“Wow, your trip is so close, you must be nervous.”
Me? Nervous? Picture by loco, flickr creative commons
I’m caught off guard each time I hear it. Mostly because I, too, think I should be nervous. But as our time draws to a close here at home, I’ve found that instead of being nervous, I’m actually more calm, more happy, more excited, and less nervous than I have been in the past year.
Not that I don’t think the nerves won’t get me at some point. But for all the times I’ve worried and cried and experienced major meltdowns wondering what we’ve gotten ourselves in to, I’ve always known this was the right decision. That knowledge calms my nerves right now.
Full disclosure: I am at times scared of certain things- grizzly bears, tumbling over the side of a mountain, the various questionable modes of transportation we will certainly find ourselves on. But when the fear pops up I shrug my shoulders and say to myself: Oh well, would you rather be facing the alternative? The answer is always clear as day: no way.
So I live with the fear and remind myself that there is always fear in new things. The safe path isn’t scary because I’ve been down it before. I know what to expect on that path. But I didn’t want safe. I chose to be afraid. I might as well get used to the feeling.
I find myself here, 30 years old, quitting my job and soon to have only a backpack full of stuff to my name. I’m about to set out on the biggest adventure of my life with the person I love. This, this exactly, is what I wanted when panic stopped me in the middle of a trail run three years ago and I emerged from the woods on that ordinary day, sat down and said: This doesn’t make me happy. I tried, but I just don’t think this will ever make me happy.
Am I scared? Sometimes I’m terrified.
But am I nervous?
Not for a single second.