The happy gleam in peoples eyes when they’ve asked about my trip has been a tad uncomfortable over the last few weeks. I’ve unconvincingly feigned excitement about my imminent travel plans, as much to fool myself as anyone else.
It shouldn’t have been that way, of course, they asked with the obvious assumption that I’d be excited about my upcoming trip. I should have been excited, right? After all, it’s me who made these plans – getting closer to fulfilling them should surely be the best bit?
Instead I’ve felt a foreboding, a sense of rapidly-approaching doom. Travelling alone, to a country I’ve been to only once, for 3 whole months – what was I thinking when I came up with this mad-cap idea?
As the date of my departure loomed ever closer, the worry blossomed into outright terror. I’m still in denial now, as I write this on the plane. Seriously. Will the worry subside and be replaced by enjoyment – or at least a more manageable level of anxiety? I’ll let you know!