Transitions Transitions

The dreaded time in a gallivanter’s life comes in the transition.

Another living situation to pack up, more logistics to fret about, a flight to catch, baggage to check, transportation to arrange.

In those uncomfortable stressful moments racked with anxiety about how you are going to compartmentalize everything back into the duffels and knowing you have to push through your stress and worry until you’re sitting down at the airport gate, I have found it reassuring to remember the age-old adage of “this too shall pass”...

Even when I’m climbing up and down four flights of stairs three times, getting into a smelly shuttle service van and about to puke from residual vertigo from spinning around packing up in the pint-sized confines that were my “bedroom” for the last almost two weeks, and general car sickness as we screeched and lurched through the nothing short of colorful neighborhoods of Brooklyn and Queens (and the cherry on top being the always hellish experience that is JFK airport).

To say I was exhausted when I’m finally sitting at the gate is laughable. I am downright ready to render unconscious from anxiety-induced sleep deprivation and the elation that has come from meeting baggage weight requirements and making it through security without too much hassle.

I strongly believe that moment was the closest I've come in my 20- something virginal years of life to post-childbirth euphoria.

I felt the breeze upon my face, as we drove past the San Diego Harbor. My urban instincts are thrown off- everything at home is so sparkling clean and quiet (and never has driving in a car felt so luxurious).

But then I thumbed through an old diary this morning of when I was about 12, and something written in caps jumped out at me “I DON’T WANT TO BE NORMAL!!!”

Appears I haven’t changed.