Ireland
When I was 6 years old, just about the age when children are finally forming lasting memories, I was left at the park by my parents. And no, they were not abandoning me in a cold hearted attempt to teach me a lesson for pooping my pants. Yes this happened (on a different occasion) and no I don't have a good answer for why I did it. I think maybe I was too busy playing in the sand while my parents watched my brother play little league baseball and thought no one would notice? Only 6 year old Emmy knows the answer to that one. But I digress.
What actually happened was that we were at the park with other families and friends. I was playing Star Wars on the monkey bars and had JUST snagged the coveted role of Princess Leia, so obviously having the time of my life. Just when I was getting ready to profess my love to Hans Solo my parents declared it was time to leave. Wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued until our friends offered to bring me home later so I could play longer. Yes problem solved! I agreed to this wholeheartedly. That is, until I actually was required to get into the car with these strangers. I mean, strangers is a strong word I'm pretty sure I saw these people every week at church. But I was six and they may as well have been kidnappers. Their car smelled weird! And this seat belt was not adjusted perfectly. And what music was playing and why is this guy pumping the brakes so often? And WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?
Within minutes I was crying silently out the window, anxiety ridden and convinced I was going to be stolen to some far away land never to see my family again. No attempts at showing concern or comfort from these nice people could alleviate my worries. I was in the panic zone. Spoiler alert: I made it home safe and sound despite making a scene and embarrassing myself and the other children in the car in the process.
This was similar to the scene that played out just a few weeks go after I landed in Ireland for my first 9 day solo trip. That means by myself. Which means alone in case this wasn't clear.
I had decided this trip was in my future about a year ago. I had been married at 21, started a family at 23 and had been raising those babies and tending to house and home ever since. I had zero experience being on my own. My value as an individual was based almost completely on who I was to others. Now having lost 2 out of my three kids to the "real world" and my age reaching the 1/2 way point, things had started to shift in life. Not to mention I had recently left a very dogmatic religion (which changed my entire world!) and was shedding multiple identities I had no use for any longer. Which leads one to question their direction in life among other things. I believe wise people refer to this as something called a "mid life crisis"? So I booked my trip, packed my bags and off I went.
My husband and 3 sons were so supportive!
Some friends looked at me like I'd gone insane.
My besties were cheering me on!
Some family members asked if my marriage was in trouble.
You know, the usual stuff. Either way I knew this was a big deal. I imagined magical scenery and new friends. I hoped for meaningful introspection and self awareness. I was excited to be in charge of only myself and enjoy the freedom of being alone. But I knew there was potential for struggle. I knew there might be pain, stress, loneliness and unexpected emotions. In fact, that was all part of this process--to push myself outside of my comfort zone and see what I was made of.
Not two hours after landing in Dublin on that first day, the reality of my situation hit me full force. Just like that 6 year old girl getting (basically) kidnapped by a stranger, I thought to myself, "What. In. The. Hell. Have. I. Done?!" I was totally alone, halfway across the world; away from any of my comforts, any of my people, any of my safety nets. And I had 9 days to go.
So, what did I do in this situation? Let's just say that there were similarities to that 6 year old with the pig tails. Wailing and gnashing of teeth? Check. Crying silently out the window? Check. Anxiety ridden? Check. Wondering WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA? DOUBLE CHECK. I was in the panic zone.
Spoiler alert: I didn't die.
Here's the thing: This was precisely the reason I was here. I knew discomfort was a part of the equation and I willingly chose it. I knew loneliness and anxiety were possibilities and I deliberately walked into it. I wasn't planning on the level of intensity these things would bring but plans are overrated anyway aren't they? (note to self: repeat as daily mantra)
There's a very real chance I overshot it a little bit when I decided to stay in a hostel with 10 "pod" beds to a room full of 18 year olds but that's a story for another day. For a couple of days I was just muscling through. Muscling through in this situation was defined by:
-calls home to cry
-journal writing
-playing tourist
-entertaining the idea of quitting to go home and how I could rationalize it
-writing and mailing postcards to friends
-texting said friends for cheers and "you've got this"
...and most importantly
-trying to live in the present
After a couple of days and a decidedly opportune change to a hotel room, I was feeling the fog of anxiety lifting. I started to recognize that I was brave just by showing up. I wasn't going to die. I wasn't going to disappear from my life just because I wasn't currently in it. My friends and family and doggies and bed were still going to be there. I was in a beautiful country with history and art and food and culture and humans and this.was.it. I was doing it!
What actually happened was that we were at the park with other families and friends. I was playing Star Wars on the monkey bars and had JUST snagged the coveted role of Princess Leia, so obviously having the time of my life. Just when I was getting ready to profess my love to Hans Solo my parents declared it was time to leave. Wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued until our friends offered to bring me home later so I could play longer. Yes problem solved! I agreed to this wholeheartedly. That is, until I actually was required to get into the car with these strangers. I mean, strangers is a strong word I'm pretty sure I saw these people every week at church. But I was six and they may as well have been kidnappers. Their car smelled weird! And this seat belt was not adjusted perfectly. And what music was playing and why is this guy pumping the brakes so often? And WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?
Within minutes I was crying silently out the window, anxiety ridden and convinced I was going to be stolen to some far away land never to see my family again. No attempts at showing concern or comfort from these nice people could alleviate my worries. I was in the panic zone. Spoiler alert: I made it home safe and sound despite making a scene and embarrassing myself and the other children in the car in the process.
This was similar to the scene that played out just a few weeks go after I landed in Ireland for my first 9 day solo trip. That means by myself. Which means alone in case this wasn't clear.
I had decided this trip was in my future about a year ago. I had been married at 21, started a family at 23 and had been raising those babies and tending to house and home ever since. I had zero experience being on my own. My value as an individual was based almost completely on who I was to others. Now having lost 2 out of my three kids to the "real world" and my age reaching the 1/2 way point, things had started to shift in life. Not to mention I had recently left a very dogmatic religion (which changed my entire world!) and was shedding multiple identities I had no use for any longer. Which leads one to question their direction in life among other things. I believe wise people refer to this as something called a "mid life crisis"? So I booked my trip, packed my bags and off I went.
My husband and 3 sons were so supportive!
Some friends looked at me like I'd gone insane.
My besties were cheering me on!
Some family members asked if my marriage was in trouble.
You know, the usual stuff. Either way I knew this was a big deal. I imagined magical scenery and new friends. I hoped for meaningful introspection and self awareness. I was excited to be in charge of only myself and enjoy the freedom of being alone. But I knew there was potential for struggle. I knew there might be pain, stress, loneliness and unexpected emotions. In fact, that was all part of this process--to push myself outside of my comfort zone and see what I was made of.
Not two hours after landing in Dublin on that first day, the reality of my situation hit me full force. Just like that 6 year old girl getting (basically) kidnapped by a stranger, I thought to myself, "What. In. The. Hell. Have. I. Done?!" I was totally alone, halfway across the world; away from any of my comforts, any of my people, any of my safety nets. And I had 9 days to go.
So, what did I do in this situation? Let's just say that there were similarities to that 6 year old with the pig tails. Wailing and gnashing of teeth? Check. Crying silently out the window? Check. Anxiety ridden? Check. Wondering WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA? DOUBLE CHECK. I was in the panic zone.
Spoiler alert: I didn't die.
Here's the thing: This was precisely the reason I was here. I knew discomfort was a part of the equation and I willingly chose it. I knew loneliness and anxiety were possibilities and I deliberately walked into it. I wasn't planning on the level of intensity these things would bring but plans are overrated anyway aren't they? (note to self: repeat as daily mantra)
There's a very real chance I overshot it a little bit when I decided to stay in a hostel with 10 "pod" beds to a room full of 18 year olds but that's a story for another day. For a couple of days I was just muscling through. Muscling through in this situation was defined by:
-calls home to cry
-journal writing
-playing tourist
-entertaining the idea of quitting to go home and how I could rationalize it
-writing and mailing postcards to friends
-texting said friends for cheers and "you've got this"
...and most importantly
-trying to live in the present
After a couple of days and a decidedly opportune change to a hotel room, I was feeling the fog of anxiety lifting. I started to recognize that I was brave just by showing up. I wasn't going to die. I wasn't going to disappear from my life just because I wasn't currently in it. My friends and family and doggies and bed were still going to be there. I was in a beautiful country with history and art and food and culture and humans and this.was.it. I was doing it!
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