dublin layover

So here we go again. Round two. Leaving everything I know for the unknown. Currently in Dublin, Ireland for a 5 hour layover. As I sit here drinking my 4 dollar shot of coffee (stupid dollar/euro conversion) and recuperate from hauling roughly 50 lbs of luggage for about a mile (Dublin airport definitely needs a shuttle) I can’t help to compare and contrast this time to the last.

What prompted the comparison? Perhaps it was the rather nasty spill I took as I ascended an escalator, beginning with myself losing control of my carefully constructed tower of rolly/laptop bag and ending in somehow straddling my rolly baggage as the escalator was going up and I, my rolly, and my laptop bag were going down much to the surprised and horrified looks of the people behind me. Would’ve been quite humorous had it not been so embarrassing.

After collecting myself I couldn’t help but be reminded me of the nasty Tokyo spill I took in 2003. That spill involved also another rolly, hands full of papers, pants that were too long and my inability to walk in heels; all of which culminated into me face planting in a nice lobby of the Keio Plaza with a dozen Japanese workers coming to my rescue and yelling “Daijyobu?” thus drawing attention to my bruised knees and bruised ego.

I smiled at this flashback and wished Megan or Mel were around to commensurate in the memory instead of me laboriously dragging my stuff to my gate and grinning to myself like an idiot. Sometimes the choice I make is a lonely one.

Five years ago I made this choice for the very first time. I remember writing about it and it involved some idealized objective of finding myself. Having done it I know you don’t find yourself (at least I didn’t) but you learn. A lot. You grow. You expand. You step outside the box of linear thinking. You dive into the unknown and realize that if an idiot like you can survive it’s really not that hard. You’re less afraid. And I think that’s important.

Several people have asked me how this time differs from the last. The biggest difference? This time around, it’s harder. I know this sounds counter-intuitive since I’m more seasoned but it’s true.

Firstly when I went to Japan I had the benefit of the Japanese thinking I was an idiot and did everything for me. They bought my ticket. They got my visa. All I had to do was show up and they put me up in a nice hotel and threw money at me to teach kids how to say ‘banana’.

This time around I was on my own. I had to get my own visa. I had to book my own flight. And I had to figure out how I was going to survive in a country where the U.S. dollar is worth 70 cents with no income. Not fun. If I was playing a video game Japan was level 1. Now I’m on level 10 and dodging ridiculously marked up conversion rates and 3% international charges.

It’s not just logistics that is harder this time around it has also been emotionally harder. I know the cost of leaving those you care about behind, if even for a little while. When I left the first time (being the self-centered ego-manic that I am) I thought that everyone’s lives in the states would hit pause and resume when I got back. Not so. When I get back it will be like a t.v. show that has jumped 5 years into the future in one season. Some things will be the same. Other things will be different and it will take some time to figure things out and find my place again.

Part of me is kicking myself for leaving again just when I’ve started to get into the swing of things. But that’s what happened when I left the first time. I may not have found myself but in traveling I realized that I was a traveler. And like most things you love, it consumes your life demanding devotion and attention and in the end you have to make sacrifices.

For the past week I have been feeling really sad. I soaked up all I could of family and friends and the more I enjoyed myself the sadder I got. But the tears never came (I suffer from emotional constipation). Last night when my family walked me to security check in and I hugged my nieces for the last time in a very long while, the tears came and my parents saw me cry for the very first time since I was a child.

Apparently the kisses of a 2 year old and the smile of a 9 month old are my emotional fiber. And here I thought it was wine.