Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Maybe my anxiety stems from the first time I flew by myself. I got hauled off to be questioned in a room because my parents forgot to write me a permission note and they saw a teenager and went "Oh teenage angst - this ones definitely a runaway". Foolish security people.
But even if I know I couldnt possibly be late, I still worry. I sit in the taxi on the way to the airport, willing it to hurry up. I take one look at the security line and can only see it as a stand still, worrying the whole while that I wont make it through in time. Every minute has me racing against a clock. And every minor setback at the check-in counter sends me reeling.
Maybe I just havent flown enough. Maybe.
The flight back home is usually worse. Because my airport anxiety combines with the irrational fear I have of coming home and everything being different. Of all the expectations - expectations I cant possibly measure up to. That the people I go to visit will be different, that I'm different - and our two differents are an impossible match. I worry that all the effort and class cutting, will reward me with nothing but a slap in the face, that resounds that the life I've held onto in Alberta doesnt exist anymore. And if I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I'd have to admit that my life in Alberta doesnt exist anymore. I'm not real there. I'm a vague memory that is slowly replaced by change. And as much as I initially want to come home, as the time nears I begin to dread it.
Of course I am not changing my plans. Anxiety or not - I do love being home. But its the moment before I get there that I cant stand. This moment (and the next seven hours) in fact.