When I was growing up in the ’60s, many of the popular TV shows contained situations where the title character had special powers. Mr. Ed was a talking horse, My Mother the Car was a mom reincarnated as an antique car, and My Favorite Martian was a visitor from outer space who could levitate, become invisible, and even mind-read. The horse conversations were kind of cool (Mr. Ed was way smarter than the guy who owned him), but I’d have to give a hard NO to the idea of coming back as a car, and an even harder NO WAY to the mind-reading thing.
The one special power that I might actually embrace is I Dream of Jeannie’s ability to fold her arms, nod her head and blink, teleporting herself wherever she wanted in an instant.
If you haven’t already guessed, I have travel anxiety. Mostly surrounding air travel. And I’ll be staring down that specific discomforting barrel very soon, with a long-anticipated trip to the West Coast to see family.
I’m not sure when this particular form of unease took root. When I was growing up, my family always took vacation car trips to locations within driving distance, and, with a limited budget, I continued that tradition with my own kids. And my professional pursuits required very little work travel. In my 50s, I did maintain a three-year long-distance relationship post-divorce (Boulder to NY), and I can remember the bubbling up of stress starting then, as I confronted the logistics of the planes, trains, and automobiles situations. It wasn’t the actual flying part that created the apprehension; it was more my punctuality DNA (thanks, Dad!) colliding with the world of unexpected delays. Add a sprinkling of baggage check-in vs. carry-on shenanigans to spice things up, and you have a very full plate of yummy anxiety.
And then there came Covid. Like many, I didn’t travel at all for close to two years (it was a little bit of heaven). But once I started again, the awareness of the microbes lurking everywhere just joined in on the fun.
Hence, my yearning for that quick “now you see me here, now you don’t because I’m way over there” ability.
But enough of that ’60s sitcom trip down memory lane, wishing for that unattainable talent. After all, Jeannie had to live in a bottle and call someone her “master,” so maybe I should seek other ways of coping.
On that note, I’ve decided to try to embrace all “the journey is as important as the destination” quotes, and figure out how to turn this whole thing around.
Or at least take some of the bite out of all that delicious stress.
First up… Address the fear of being late. How? Be as early riding to, and arriving at, the airport as I want. It’s just me traveling, so no one needs to know if I get to the gate hours (maybe even a day?) earlier than most. And if I have a good book, and treat myself to a nice breakfast (maybe a mimosa too?) while I’m waiting… WIN–WIN! Add in some people-watching, always an interesting window into human nature that I never get to do in my apartment, and I’ve scored the WIN trifecta.
Ditto for the actual flight time… Lean into good reading/tunes plus snacks galore. And taking a beat to remind myself how lucky I am. I get to traverse the country to see loved ones in less than six hours, as opposed to staring at the hindquarters of a horse for four to six months to accomplish the same trip (covered wagon statistics provided by my AI pal).
And I’ll keep my fingers crossed that even if stuff happens, and there’s some kind of travel glitch, my personal crush Keanu Reeves will appear on the scene… Just like in this news story.
Not to mention the pot of family gold that’s awaiting me at the end of that journey over the rainbow. I’m mixing munchkins and leprechauns with that one, but you get the picture.
I’m not sure all this will work to quiet the travel gremlins in my head, but it’s worth a shot.
And I’m hoping to publish this blog post the day before my travel day, so I’ll also be relying on all your good thoughts to power me through!
Remember that talking horse I mentioned earlier? Feel free to sing along to these opening credits!
