Ok I said it. I have travel anxiety.
I always have. I was the kid on the bus quietly praying fervently that we wouldn’t slide off the slick gravel road after a thunderstorm (that did happen fairly frequently). I still grip the door or the Oh S*** handle in the truck when I think we are too close to the white line or are driving on a narrow road. I leave handprints on the armrests on airplanes – the WHOLE flight. Jesus and I get in some serious talks in the air.
Friday, my family is traveling to Colorado for my uncle’s memorial service. A 9.5hr trip, we are taking my vehicle. My dad is driving, but he promised that if he gets too tired he’ll turn it over to one of the other five adults in the SUV. We’ve had time to process my uncle’s passing, but the sad reason for our trip will run as an undercurrent as we cover the miles.
Just the original family, no husbands or kids on this road trip. It’ll be a throwback to our childhood. I wonder if my mom will limit our Gameboy and Walkman time? Or if Dad will have ThunderDrums to play in the background as we drive across the southwest? I cross my fingers that we won’t have a freak malfunctioning door alarm that sounds every time we hit a bump…
Growing up, my parents prioritized us going on a family trip every year. One year, it was north to Turtleford, Saskatchewan, Canada to see relatives. Frequently it was to Colorado to see cousins, but with a little extra tacked on such as Mesa Verde or the Sand Dunes Natl Park. When money was tight, it was just a couple days travel across south central Nebraska to buy school supplies and stay at a B&B. Memories made everywhere we traveled no matter the destination.
Regardless- the Anxiety. I can’t help but feel that churny feeling in my stomach looking ahead to our car time. My chest is tight thinking about it. Deep breaths…
I love to travel, see new places, learn about their local history, and people watch. That’s the thing. Quite the conundrum. It’s getting started that’s hard.