For my generation, travel is the (attainable) dream. People who have jobs that involve travel are envied, and saying that you’re not super keen on travelling is like saying you don’t like puppies, or halloumi (I should say now, I don’t like halloumi).
It’s not that I don’t like travelling. But it does make me very anxious. I didn’t travel at all for a while when I was younger, actually for about six years – from age 17 to age 23. During most of that time I was living in London, and either a student or working in publishing. The people who said to me that flights were so cheap and “why not just go away for a weekend” confused me – yes the flight isn’t so bad, but I have to sleep somewhere, and eat, and where does the money for that come from? I have friends who spent those years backpacking and sofa surfing, but that never appealed to me. The anxiety of it would have outweighed any pleasure. Is that a weakness? Perhaps.
Without those cheap options, the few hundred pounds involved were out of my reach – I had savings, but wanted to save them (a smart move as it turned out) and my salary didn’t even cover me month to month – I was always borrowing money from my parents. Any trip would have come out of my already overstretched salary, and as I always earned more than my ex-boyfriend (he was rarely earning a salary even, but living from one inadequate money injection to another) a trip abroad for the two of us would likely have meant me carrying the majority of the cost. My first job in publishing paid just £10,000 a year, and the second only £18,000 – you can see how it wasn’t easy.
Anyway so I didn’t go anywhere. This isn’t really a newsflash, there are many, many, many people who do not travel. But for my age, and in my circle of friends and colleagues and acquaintances, not going abroad was bizarre. I felt self-conscious about it, and the longer I didn’t go anywhere, the more of an obstacle it became in my head. That finally broke a little when I was 27, and I went on a few trips to Europe to go on blues dancing workshop weekends. These weren’t too anxiety-inducing for me, because it was a controlled situation. I was going abroad, but there were people there I knew, and stuff to do, and most importantly it was just a push to get up and go. The FOMO became bigger than my apprehension about going somewhere where I couldn’t communicate properly, and the anxiety of travel.
Since then I’ve been to a few more places, mainly Canada to visit my boyfriend’s family. Last week I went to Iceland with him (he can pay his own expenses, thankfully – setting the bar low!!) which was one of the first times I’ve gone abroad without a “grown up”. I wasn’t staying with someone who would come and pick me up, I had to arrange our transport and where we were going to be and how it was all going to work. It was still structured – we booked a package including a few trips, so we had various times when we had to manoeuvre ourselves to a bus stop to be picked up by a coach – but still, it felt like an important step to go somewhere without that safety net.
Is it sad, that I find travel so strange and anxiety-inducing when I’m about to turn 30? I feel like it is, a bit. It’s easier for me to bow to a pressure in my head that says it will be simpler to stay at home, but the more I do that, the worse it becomes. The trip to Iceland was an anxious trip for me – I catastrophise like you wouldn’t believe; just endless scenarios running through my head of what could go wrong. When I said to my partner on the penultimate day that I’d just about started trusting the coach company to actually be there to pick us up, he looked incredulous. It had never occurred to him it might be a problem, whereas half my thoughts had been about what we would do if they didn’t pick us up or drove off without us leaving us stranded in the middle of Iceland. I imagined falling off boats or slipping into waterfalls. Sometimes the thoughts were so strong it felt like I might do it just from the force of the worry. What a waste of time! If I didn’t have to think about all those things, think of all the other things I could be thinking about.
It makes me sad that this is a habit my brain has got into. But I’m so glad that I fought it to go away and do all the things that we did – I loved Iceland and had so many incredible experiences while we were there. In fact, I loved it so much that I now have a far more common problem: the post-holiday blues. How easy it is, when you come home from a country where steam rises out of the ground, and whales swim half an hour from the shore, and volcanoes cover the earth with ash and lava – how easy it is, to find everything you do on a day-to-day basis at home tired and mundane. I’m tired of the worries I have about things which are, of course, exactly the same as they were before I went away. I can understand far more clearly a friend of mine who said a big fat FUCK IT to everything a year and a half ago and went to Australia. I don’t know if I’d ever have her guts, but I understand the motivation more now.
I’m well aware that some of my anxiety around travelling comes from my mum. We went on annual holidays abroad when we were children, mostly by car taking the ferry to France or Spain. The few times we had to go to airports I remember my mum being sick with nerves. Neither of my parents have been abroad for some years, mainly because they’ve had a dog which has never been put in kennels, and he’s a bit of a prima donna so they aren’t sure how he’ll respond. I expect my mum’s anxiety around it all is a restricting factor as well. And she’s very happy to catastrophise on my behalf too – when I told her we were visiting a waterfall she responded saying ‘have fun- don’t fall in!’
Now that we’ve been somewhere once I’m feeling far more comfortable about going to more places, experiencing more new things. Iceland was very easy in one particular way: everyone there spoke English as naturally as if we’d been at home. I can do nothing but panic and do a blank stare at people when they ask me things in other languages – even in Spain when if I’d put my mind to it I could have worked out exactly what they were talking about. One time it was about Coca Cola, for heaven’s sake! I do feel terribly guilty though, going to places where I know none of the language and expect everyone to know English. I was depressed and fatigued by the behaviour of some of my fellow Brits on the trip to Iceland – conversations overheard were always about inadequate this or that, just little nitpicking moans about everything. On one of our coach trips, we had a guide describing the places we were passing, and telling us some culture and history. He spoke exceptional English, and paused now and again either because he was trying to think of the right word or because he had a slight stammer. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard someone behind me copying him and guffawing. I turned round in amazement thinking it must be a child – but no, a man of at least 35. I gave him a furious stare and he stopped doing it. But really! You get up there and tell us all about it in Icelandic, you fool! See how you get on!
I’m sure this must be a strange post for a lot of people who’ve never felt fussed about travelling, and have embraced the issues with communication and so on as part of the adventure. I am hopeful that the more I do it, the more I take steps one by one to go to new places, the less the anxiety will get in the way. Even if it means that I have to learn to adjust better to the flat feeling the first few days after I get home, and not just sit around in a sulk. Which definitely isn’t what I’ve been doing. (Except it is.)