None of that is to say that I don't like leaving, because that's as far from the truth as possible. I love leaving. I would not come back if I had the option. (Soon enough.) It just means that I'm a creature of habit almost excessively, and so the change of scenery being still a change, it produces mixed feelings no matter how much I'm looking forward to going. The gravity of the situation doesn't really set in until I'm through security at the airport, and even then, the whole process ends up being more subdued and relaxed than I expect it to be. If my experience with Air Canada is at all less of a
Part of this ordeal is the reality that I will awake, check my computer for updates on my regular web browsing, text several people en route to and at the airport, tweet a little bit if I remember, listen to music on either of two iPods, and then I will turn off all of my electronics prior to boarding my plane and will land in foreign countries completely disconnected from the world, unless I find a rogue wifi connection on my iPod that is capable of doing so. I look forward to the technological severance on one hand, prepared with Moleskine journals for documentation, but on the other, I also realize that most of my internet usage will be updating this blog and replying to the occasional email, and that shocks my entire sense of routine thoroughly. It is safe to say that I am firmly a product of the generation that will develop carpal tunnel syndrome upon adolescence, lack real world social functions in place of talking to screens, and generally takes for granted the wealth of information available through invisible airwaves as long as said screens are sufficiently charged and in the right location. The holistic approach to traveling will be to embrace the increased lack of connectivity, the realistic end result will be the severance of my usual reading and none whatsoever of my communication with contacts on social media and email.
I'm ready to leave, but the social element of leaving and being apart from my small, insular group of friends and other such people is also somewhat jarring. Leaving the male of interest (let's call him F) and all of the issues that have piled onto us behind is sad, because I know we will not talk much, if at all, for six weeks. That's probably for the better. Leaving behind the smattering of people in whom I confide and who confide in me is also a little frustrating, but I don't have an overlying feeling of the possibility of some disastrous roadblock or new happening surfacing to disrupt my relationships with them in the six week absence as unfortunately exists with F. Primarily on this trip it will be me and the thoughts in my head to bore me for the greater part of acclimating to the new surroundings, and even then my tendencies are not nearly as social as they perhaps should be. This wasn't so much a problem in Russia, because I knew almost everyone on the trip, but I am anticipating a fight with my general tendency toward disliking doing things by myself. I suppose this is how most people function in similar circumstances. I suspect also that this reflects on more than just my behavior when traveling, but a psychologist I am not.
No really, I'm ready to leave.
As I sit with the noxious odor of new luggage wafting into my nostrils, contemplating what comes next in the 24 hours between now and departure, I conclude that this is why people the world over choose to self-medicate with things like Xanax. It sounds nice, but I'm not really so bothered to need it. До завтра, France.
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