El Camino: Jitters

 

I've been plotting this El Camino trip of mine for the better part of a year. With an underlying sense of adventure and anticipation, I've delved into tour companies (aka: luggage schleppers), the best gear to have when undertaking the trek, and how I could get there and home.

My sense of adventure was abruptly replaced by "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING???" as soon as I made the final train reservation, put the last piece of the travel puzzle into place. Seemingly out of nowhere, I began to face the trip with trepidation and heightened anxiety. (My reaction left me a bit confused, because anxiety is not a staple in my coping strategies catalog.)

You'll get lost. You're going to miss your plane. You don't speak the language. You're going to miss your train. You're not going to have the right cash on hand. What if you forget/lose your passport? Jet lag is going to make you miserable. Covid is still out there, you know! Your feet are going to hurt. What makes you think you can walk 14 miles in one day, then get up the next to do it again? 

Never mind that I'd considered each of these scenarios in the planning process. (Google Translate and my credit card take care of many of them, no?) My heart's been pumping a bit too quickly, my brain is alert and on edge. It's unsettling, to say the least.

Knowing such reactions don't really appear out of nowhere, I began to dig a little deeper. I didn't have to dig far - this is the time of year when I set off on my original camper van journey, and my subconscious tracks such things. Now it all made sense. 

With all that's happened since the abrupt and permanent detour that ended my trip before I'd found whatever it was I was looking for, I'm pretty sure I've not completely dealt with my feelings regarding my change in direction. By the time life settled down enough for me to process what had happened, those feelings were already buried under the pile of my reactions to the other big life crises which followed in relatively quick succession. It was a decade, that's for sure.

No wonder I'm worried this new trust leap will end in crisis. The precedent is there.

Which is all the more reason to make the journey.

Back to my rocking chair analogy. When my years are drawing to a close, and I'm sitting in my rocker on the porch looking back over my life, when I think of this moment, will I be glad I took the leap, or will I wish I'd stayed home?

For me, the answer is clear. Even if I run into trouble, I'll have done it living my days, not hiding in fear.

Onward!