Why, oh why, can’t I sleep the night before a trip?
I could put last night’s sleeplessness down to my full bladder, or the tinny music being pumped out around the neighbourhood at 3.30am, but I’d been restless before then. No, it’s something else.
I’m well accustomed to travel, and to travelling on my own, but for some reason sleep always evades me the night before I go. It could be anticipation, the excitement that I will get to do what I love doing with no interference. But I fear it is the eternal worrier that breaks into my subconscious and troubles me. Have I set the alarm? Have I got everything? Where did I put my passport? It has my mother’s voice; which both infuriates and saddens me.
Recently I have worked on getting my travel OCD mostly under control, in daylight hours at least. I only check my bag for the correct documents, camera, phone and purse once (or possibly twice) now, instead of repeatedly. I get to the airport in plenty of time, having shed travelling companions that enjoy the frisson of the last minute dash. I’m content to relax with a coffee and people-watch rather than rush around and begin my adventure grumpy. I’m confident that everything is booked because I have booked it and checked it, and I have a loose plan about what I’m going to do, with plenty of scope for accidental tourism, ONCE I GET THERE!
It is not the act of arriving that troubles me, but the act of going. My subconscious reminds me that I am stepping into the unknown once more; challenging myself further; taking previously undreamt of opportunities. But conversely, I fear it also asks me if I should? If it’s Ok to do these things and enjoy them? If I’m being selfish?
And I do wonder. Am I ready to let it all go?
Not quite. Not yet.
But I’m working on it.