Still home

In the week before what seemed to become a looming and terrifying trip to New Zealand, I was on the brink of a panic attack. I had purchased my one way ticket into Auckland in May 2014 and long before 9 January 2015 arrived, all the excitement had faded and I was just left with an extreme fear of... the unknown.

I remember when I had first purchased my ticket, I was ready, I needed to get out of the town I grew up in, left for university, only to come back and work in for another five and a half years. I was excited, I was proud, I was fucking ready. I needed it. Shopping for my supplies over the next few months was exhilarating, I loved researching and trying things out, test packing and found it liberating getting rid of stuff I didn't need in my life anymore. I got rid of so much shit – clothes, shoes, electronics, stuff that I didn't even remember I owned. Looking for cool things to do in New Zealand, Hobbiton, wwoofing, yoga, Milford Sound, I felt productive, and I can't say enough, I felt ready to leave.

But that only took two or three months so by September I was done with it and my life as per usual went on. I went to work, I went out with friends, I went to a lot of yoga classes. But when December finally did roll in, the excitement didn't come back. I was just left freaking the fuck out. The feeling of unease and doom stuck to me, my body seemed to be marinating in it. The day before I left I practically sprinted for two miles, I went a power vinyasa class, and still, I couldn't shake off the discomfort. I was so tightly strung, my body was physically unable to let go.

I have an amazing support system of friends, and even a close friend made an over 500 mile drive to see me before leaving. But making sure that I saw each and every one of them was really rough on my nervous system. I couldn't watch a TV show without crying!

My best friend, who just landed from his own international flight earlier that day, met me at the airport to say goodbye. Just thinking about that moment makes me teary eyed. I'm not sure if I can call it grief, I wasn't mourning, but I was more than terrified. I was leaving this amazing support system and for what?

I must have looked a bit crazy, red eyed, puffy face, all the while trying to keep it cool. I had waited years for this, I've wanted to travel on my own for a long, long time. Why was I so scared? Why wasn't I excited?

I got on the plane and opened up a letter from the friend who drove so far to see me off. It was a letter of encouragement, full of love and wonder. So far, all that it promised was true.