After what feels like years of anticipation, many months of planning and endless hours working and saving, the countdown is finally down to it’s last leg. In less than TWO weeks, I will be boarding a plane to England, and not returning for a whole year. It’s crazy how something I remember drunkenly talking myself into is actually happening in a matter of 12 days. TWELVE DAYS! I remember when it was 162 days- I couldn’t wait, I was scouring the internet for Europe trip ideas, plans and reviews, staring at images of Venice and Paris, picturing myself riding through the canals of Amsterdam and frolicking through the hills of Austria. My bags have literally been packed for months. Not 100% ready of course, but I’ve been as organised as anyone ever could be. I’ve looked into every possible thing, read my trip itinery over and over, made countless lists for packing essentials, must-see sights, unmissable places and general to-do’s before I leave. I have packed most of my material possessions away into boxes and put them in storage, sealed up and ready to say goodbye. I’ve planned going away drinks and dinners and last hurrahs and told anyone who will listen that this almost-20-year-old is going on an adventure of a life time. I’ve reminded everyone every day leading up to it, how many days are left on my countdown.
But now... now that it’s practically here... I’m a little bit... terrified. Obviously, ecstatic, but there’s an overwhelming sense of nerves as well, as there should be I suppose. Everyone has told me it’s perfectly normal to feel a bit scared, that it’s a HUGE thing for a person to do. But I’m not usually one for being nervous over exciting things. It’s strange. Everything I’ve been doing has been stamped into my mind as possibly the last in a very long time. The last time I wash my dog, the last time I watch a film with my mum, the last time I cook a spag bol in my parents kitchen, the last time I drink with my friends, the last time I walk national park with my best friend. I feel kind of sad about it, but then again I have a slight tendency to dramatise things, so maybe I’m picturing myself in a really sad film about a girl who has to leave all her loved ones and possessions behind to go on a journey of self discovery and world exploration. Personally, I would pay to see that.
I’m extremely nostalgic, and can especially predict certain moments to be nostalgic ones as they are happening. I think to myself, well shit this one’s going to be sad to look back on. Or damn, I’m really going to miss this person. But at the same time, as much as I’ll miss my friends and my family and mostly, my dog, I need this trip. I’ve gotten myself into a funk. A funk where I hang out with the same two people (who if I’m sure are sick to death of my rants, whining and stupid mistakes), go to the same bars and clubs and restaurants we always go to, fall for the same jerks who just mess me around, and most importantly or sadly, am extremely deprived of creative inspiration and motivation. I need this trip because I need to broaden my horizons, break out of my safety zone and life bubble, experience life, see the world, meet loads of new people, and most of all, respark my creativity. And of course that’s terrifying- because what if I don’t find what I’m looking for. What if I don’t change? What if I don’t find inspiration or meet anyone life changing or feel moved by the whole experience? What if I can’t bring myself to stay for a year, and come home broke, more alone and sad than ever and very discouraged?
At least I’ll know that I gave it a shot- and even if I only gain a broken bone, or an empty bank account- at least it will be an experience.
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