Post the Twenty-Ninth: In Which My Fears Are Revealed

Okay, Gentle Reader, I need to tell you something. Full disclosure:

I am fucking terrified of the trip I’m about to take. However, I know that if I don’t go, I will probably die. My life was out of my control, going some pretty dark places – Europe has been a beacon of hope, giving me something to strive for, something to aim for, something to live for – I’ve regained at least some control; I have a plan, a direction, and a positive answer, for once, when I’m asked what I’m doing with my life.

This. This is what I’m doing.

And yet –

I know that adventures sometimes mean that you don’t know where you’re going to sleep, but I’ve never had that experience for more than a few nights at a time. Apart from a few scattered nights that are already arranged, that’s going to be the case for the next year or so. I’ve never really been homeless before, and even though I’m doing this on purpose, and it’s actually a positive thing, it’s rather overwhelming.

Not only that, Maman is selling off my childhood home – I completely support this; she’s a widow, on her own, and Arvingdale is a big property that is crumbling around her. It’s in bad enough shape that whoever buys it will essentially just be buying the property, and will likely bulldoze the house. Which is fine; I just won’t be here to help her move, or to tell her definitely not to sell my great-great-grandfather’s baleen or things like that.

Not only will I not have a home, but I won’t have a home. And the stuff that keeps me in tune with my ancestral roots is likely to be gone as well.

All gone.

I’m also, obviously, worried about money. Who isn’t? I have some put away, and I plan on earning while I’m on the road if I can, but obviously travel is expensive and that has been preying on my brain, because of course it is. I’m not worried about money for essentials like food so much as I’m worried about paying for hostels and train tickets and bus fare. I’m fairly sure that tarot readings won’t be earning me that much.

Uh, there’s also the language issue. My German’s shit, my French is… dodgy, and my Spanish is nonexistent. So that’s a thing. A very significant scary thing, particularly as I’ll be on my own on the road, and not only will I be often lonely, but I won’t even be able to communicate with the people around me, thus reinforcing my loneliness, and fear over being able to make my way about, have a place to sleep, etc.

Oh, hey, that reminds me: I will also not have a place to retreat to when in the throes of crippling depression, which is a thing that happens – well, not that often, but often enough that I need to worry about it. I’ve been wondering how I’m going to cope with that on the road for the last nine months, and I don’t have a clue as to how to answer it.

Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being confidant that I can pull this off, that no matter happens, things will work out in the end. Any ideas on how to cope with all this crippling doubt? Most welcome.

Tagged: Doubt, Europe, Fear, Full Disclosure, Maman, non-whimsy, Rambling Nonsense, Worry