In Search of the Art of Travelling

I’ve talked before about my fear of flying and how I hate to travel. I suppose the anxiety I feel about travel is really porportional to the distance and time and effort involved. Personally, I’m not particularly fond of going anywhere. I prefer to stay home; though I don’t mind being at work.

But really, there’s a lot of stress involved in going anywhere in particular. There’s the matter of dressing appropriately, make-up or no make-up, making sure you leave enough time to get ready before you must leave your house to drive somewhere…there’s more stress if you’re going somewhere you’re unfamiliar with and quite frankly that’s often true now that I’m in Maine. There’s the stress of making sure you arrive on time. There’s more stress if you’re the first one there. There’s different stress if you aren’t the first one there. Then there’s the stress of having to converse with people while worrying about saying the wrong thing or trying to be funny and when is it appropriate to leave — wouldn’t want to leave too early or stay too long.

And that’s just the stress of going somewhere social.

Taking a trip is a big ball of anxiety-ridden stress for me. First you have to make the travel arrangements, whether it be airplanes, trains, buses, or automobiles. Personally, I feel better if I have the tickets bought and paid for as early as possible. The fact that the bus station doesn’t do reservations is making my stomach hurt as I type.

Then there’s the packing — what if you pack wrong for the weather or don’t have the right clothes for an unexpected social event? What if you don’t really want to read that book you packed once you get there? What if you change your mind about your jewelry after you leave? And what will the security guy think when he searches your luggage — really, once I had a security guy comment on what was in my suitcase which was half-filled with WWery snacks. I kind of wonder what they’ll think of my copy of The Dark History of Christianity and my Paranoia magazine this year.

I started packing on Sunday for this trip. All I have left theoretically is the bath stuff.

But the real anxiety starts the day before the trip. I start feeling like I should be leaving and getting to the first stop of the trip. I just want to get there, wherever there is. I just want the whole thing over.

If it’s a 2 hour trip to Boston, I have to keep myself from leaving four hours early. I begin to worry about being late and not finding the place or something happening.

If it’s something bigger like a multi-leg trip across the country, I just want to get to each stop as quickly as possible. I start worrying about missing flights or buses overbooked or not finding the right terminal or being in the bathroom when they announce boarding of my plane. The whole time I’m travelling, I’m checking and double-checking and tripple-checking my tickets and itenery, I’m going over what needs to be done in my head, and I’m growing anxious that I can’t get to the next step because I’m waiting for the plane to land or waiting for the plane to board or waiting for the time to leave my house.

Add in that fear of flying, that feeling that one should not be flinging oneself through the air in a big metal box, and it’s just a stomach-wrenching, acid-churning, migraine-inducing event that I want over as quickly as possible and it doesn’t end until I have my luggage safely back in my possession and am comfortly installed in my hotel or at my friend’s or family’s house…

And then the whole time I’m on the vacation/trip, in the back of my mind, I’m already going through the list of things I’ll have to do on the journey back home — what time do I need to leave where I’m staying, what time does the plane/bus/train leave, how long will I have between stops to get to the next terminal…and on and on and on.

Some people seem to enjoy travelling. Those people always seemed so relaxed. They have brought DVDs to watch and books to read and don’t appear to be in a whole lot of hurry. They can nap without worrying that they won’t wake up when the plane lands or the bus arrives at the terminal. They chat with strangers without concern or paranoia.

I envy them.

I have 13 hours and 26 minutes until I need to leave my house for the bus station.

tags: fear of flying, stress, anxiety, travel

One comment

1. on December 23, 2005 at 1:45 pm

   Lorelle said:

   After over 10 years living on the road almost full-time, and 20 years before that of traveling 5 months or more a year, I have to agree with you. Traveling just isn’t fun any more. It’s gotten worse after 9-11. Not only is everything you talked about very true, inside the airport feels more like an assault than a restful place. Between the bright lights, the noise, the race to the gate, the shopping glare, the security strip search, the squashing into seats designed for Qtips, and the idiotic movies (if they dare even spend a dime to show one), and the hideous food or lack thereof…it just isn’t fun any more.

   Unfortunately, this is my life right now. I endure and use headphones and sun glasses. It is improving overseas in some ways, though in Asia, the cattle haulers are not fun at all. We really need to get working more on transporter/beaming technology. This current method sucks.

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