I’ve been feeling churned up lately. I have found myself gnawing away at the inside of my cheeks at night like I’m trying to create a porthole in my face. I keep telling myself I shouldn’t be feeling this way; it’s the antithesis of what I want in my gap year.
And yet, I’m dealing with what feels like a really unpleasant-tasting stew of anxiety, depression and dread. These are feelings that I’ve dealt with for years – sometimes more intensely than others – but I haven’t been conscious of these emotions at all during my travels.
Until now.
So what’s changed? I’ve been trying to post consistently on Instagram – as much for myself as for public consumption (it’s not easy to remember all of the things I’ve done and places I’ve been). For some reason, I felt a need to “celebrate,” or, at least acknowledge, the fact that my gap year is half over. I provided a dispassionate recitation of miles travelled, countries visited, and some of the highs and lows. As soon as I posted that on my account, I wanted to delete it, both from the internet and from my own mind.
There’s nothing to celebrate about the ever-declining number of days before my gap year comes to an end. I’ve been dreaming about this trip for so long, spent so much time and energy planning it, and came up with an itinerary that was going to be interesting and challenging. Now it feels like there are so many mileposts that are fading further and further away in my rear-view mirror.
I think these feelings are exacerbated by the fact that many of the more exotic locations I planned on visiting have now been checked off the list. I was ready to leave Africa when I was scheduled to do so, but now that I’m in Europe, I’m missing the “differentness” of the places I went during the first six months of my trip. Europe is wonderful in its own right, and, since I’m mostly avoiding Western Europe, there’s plenty of new experiences. Some are better than others; I still can’t get the smell of cigarette smoke out of every single article of clothing I wore in Bulgaria.
Why am I struggling so much with my toxic stew? When I landed in Budapest, it hit me. For my entire life, every trip I’ve ever taken ended before I was ready for it to do so. The big three – anxiety, depression and dread – would generally start weighing on me when there were around two days left of vacation. I’d be coming back to the life that I had only been too happy to escape from. I’d get one or two residual tranquil days when I returned before I found myself right back where I’d left off before my vacation began.
I simply don’t know how to eliminate the associations that have so long been part of my history. Most everything I’m experiencing during my gap year is new, including the realization that I have nowhere I need to be. I’m subconsciously aware of this – I still haven’t made a reservation to return to Los Angeles after my Antarctica trip. Cuba is looking pretty appealing.
People ask whether I’m tired of travelling – particularly travelling alone – and I can honestly say that I don’t even think about that. There’s nothing about my ongoing trip that I’m tired of, not even delayed flights, rushed connections and lost baggage. Well, that’s not entirely true; nothing bugs me more than a rushed connection. I’ve even run through an airport thinking I had 15 minutes to make a connection, only to be told at security that there was a 1 hour time difference. That was super fun.
More importantly, I have to keep telling myself that the home I’m going back to isn’t the home that I left. Sure, the physical trappings will be the same, but my mental architecture has been rearranged. I’m not going back to expectations or deadlines; I can just “be.” To say that’s a first for me would be a dramatic understatement.
It’s kind of the key to my gap year though. I have some thoughts about what I’d like to do when I get back home; I definitely want to write a book about my experiences, but that’s not all of it. It seems pretty obvious that I will pursue a creative path, but I’m not sure what that looks like. Would I go back to school? Write a screenplay? Take up painting? Everything is on the table.
My therapist is over 6,000 miles away, so I’ve had to fly solo (like everything else I’m doing) to delve into these things. That, in and of itself, is a new experience for me. Just like feeling free. Life can be a little intimidating when it’s a blank canvas waiting to be filled. The good news is that I think I’ve figured out which brushes I’d like to use. I have six more months (or so) to select the colors.
Though it’s a challenge, I’ve resolved not to stress about that. My cheeks feel better already.
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