As this round-the-world trip grows closer and my to-do list gets longer, I’m starting to get paralyzed with fear.
It reminds me of the way I used to feel before skydiving.
See, skydiving and I had a mad and passionate love affair that lasted several years. I spent every weekend skydiving. I subscribed to skydiving magazines, I posted on skydiving websites, I watched skydiving videos. I lived, breathed, slept and ate skydiving.
Heck, I even married my skydiving instructor.
Still my heart trembled every time I faced the airplane’s open door.
As much as I loved skydiving, I also knew the risks involved. I understood how easily something could go wrong. I didn’t fully trust myself, my gear or the people around me.
To get over that trepidation, I used visualization techniques. I practiced taking long, calming breaths. I played mental games with myself, pretending I was Angelina Jolie’s stunt double filming a new “Tomb Raider” movie.
I knew if I just got out that door, somehow everything would be OK.
Hundreds of times I made that terrifying leap over and over again. And I almost always landed solidly on my feet.
This trip reminds me of that. Lately I start to panic when I think about things like vaccines, next year’s taxes and how I’m going to fit a year’s worth of contact solution inside my tiny backpack.
I am so scared about being stranded at a bus stop in rural Botswana or getting attacked by rabid monkeys in Malaysia.
I’m worried I’ll fail.
Once again, I am at that airplane door, trembling with fright. And despite my fears, I think I’m just going to have to close my eyes, summon Angelina Jolie and make my big leap.
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