Freaking Out

At this moment, I’m sitting in London Gatwick Airport, trying my best not to stare at the most adorable children jumping around on the seats in the waiting lounge in fear of looking like a total creep. I figured I should write something before I actually get to Rome, the prequel if you will, because holy crap was getting here tough. I left Vancouver February 6th at 1pm (or at least I was supposed to), but due to our oddly ginormous snowfall, my flight to Toronto was delayed 45 minutes. No big deal, except my layover in Toronto was 50 minutes. So kinda a big deal. Thankfully, it came out that there were 44 people on my flight connecting to the Toronto flight headed to London as well, so at least i wasn’t struggling alone (although being in the midsts of a sea of angry travellers scurrying around the Toronto Airport like bees to a hive, was not that enjoyable). 

Finally, I was sitting on the plane in Toronto waiting to take off to London, the reality that I was 1/3 there flight wise had begun to set off the panic bells, but I was lucky because I was sat next to the most lovely retired nurse who mistook me doubting my choice to go live a completely different life across the globe as fear of flying, so she chatter about god knows what was actually pleasantly distracting. After 3 hours sitting on the plane, butt numb from sitting still for so long, the captain finally announce that there was a gas leak they could not fix and that the flight would have to be canceled. Of course, being the rational thinker i am, I took this as acoustic sign tat this entire endeavour was a mistake and that I should give up now and go home.

Fast forward one night in a hotel listening to all the heart breaking stories of other passengers’ crappy situations (an understatement). One woman was going home to Ireland to surprise her fiancé for their anniversary which she would be missing now, another man was missing his son’s big speech, and worst of all, one woman with twin toddlers would be missing her father’s funeral. Suddenly, my annoyance of having to stay in a crappy hotel instead of getting on my merry way didn't seem so bad.

So fast forward an entire day in a hotel room watching netflix, an 11:30pm flight that came into London the next morning on which I got a total of 2 and a half hours of sleep on, here I am, all settled, finally at peace just waiting on my flight… And I’m freaking out. I don’t know if I can handle being away from home, in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language, where I don’t know a single person, and where I have no clue what I’m walking into. I’m truly and honestly terrified and finally saying it feels a lot better than blowing off my nerves as worrying that the family won’t like me. 

It’s terrifying, having no clue what is happening in your life, not knowing what I’ve set myself up for for the next 3 months. I want to cry and give up and go home to where I know my routine, I work my shitty jobs and then do nothing but hang out with my parents the rest of the time. But saying that now makes me realize I don’t want that either. Jesus, I have no clue what I want. I’m sure it makes sense to seem nervous about going to au pair for 3 months with a family I’ve skyped twice and am too shy to ask what they do for a living. 

I think the scariest part is going in this alone, starting this new chapter without any friends, anyone to talk to. I won’t be surrounded by people wanting to make new friends, it’s not highschool, it’s a new country where no one will understand me. Am I ready to spend the next 3 months essentially by myself? I guess I have to be. But I’m scared. Just really really fucking scared.