Into the Woods

January 1st, 2011

The anticipation and process of traveling makes me feel like I’m setting off in a covered wagon into unknown territory. I lose my bearings and my sense of me-ness. Being wrenched out of my secure and somewhat boring routine ratchets up my anxiety to More Prozac Please levels, and I think that’s why I tend to overpack, to drag along all my stuff as a buffer against being alone or lost. I’m not a natural pioneer or vagabond, and change unsettles me in deep and frightening ways that most people would never guess. After all, ┬átravel is supposed to be exciting, not excruciating. Someone once told me that my inability to commit to events three or four months in the future indicated that I grew up in a chaotic household. I never tied the two facts together before that, but I can see that the way I grew up and the nature of my marriage is probably why I grew to crave the safety of routine, but it also accounts for my attraction to drama and intensity. To stay in the little house in the clearing or ┬áto venture into the woods is a continual push-pull for me in life.

3 Responses to “Into the Woods”

  1. steph says:

    Go boldly, Nikki Ingalls Wilder…the big woods need you.

  2. Becoming an expat in a country where I didn’t speak the language showed me how brave, smart, resourceful, observant, and tough I really was despite the safe suburban life I’d been living for decades before move.

    Sometimes I cried. Sometimes it was overwhelming, but I also learned to stare down all the limits I’d put on myself up until that point AND I learned that making mistakes and being uncertain wouldn’t kill me.

    In the end, it was tremendously liberating. I hope to do it again at some point.

  3. ida b. says:

    I hope you say “tallyho” in the most ironic way possible at some point this week. It is, after all, a banner week for you, my friend. A hug and a high five from across the pond.

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