Travel

I really hate to travel. Well, I guess that's not entirely true. It's not so much the travel I hate, as all the components that go into the travel. Booking hotel rooms, flights, planning to be at point X by time Y, figuring out a new city or place – all of it leaves me feeling stressed and wound up tight. Of course, once I get all wound up like that, I end up having to fight my innate 'flee' response, which leads to me becoming depressed and moody.

Once the initial part of a trip is over and I know things are going to work out, I can relax a bit more, but until that point I'm generally tired and listless. Why I'm like this, I don't really know. As a child, we travelled quite a bit – Hawaii, New Mexico, trips to Peace River and Grand Prairie, and even a Disneyland expedition. Those all seemed to work out. I don't have any specific memories of anxiety or worry during those trips, but I sometimes wonder if I picked up some kind of vibe off my mother and father that affects me now that I'm on my own and doing all this.

My main coping mechanism is to offload and delegate as much of the planning to others, hoping that in doing so I will reduce the mistakes and ensure success. I feel terrible doing it, because I am an adult and shouldn't have to rely on Mom-surrogates to accomplish something like a week in Vancouver – but there it is.