This wasn’t easy.
I mean, it was for almost the entire year or so I planned for it. I fought off comments intended to dissuade me, I laid out a detailed financial plan to prove I can afford it (which, admittedly, I fudged slightly… because it's not going to be easy), I shrugged when people told me I was going to a mediocre school in France instead of a great school in the States, because I knew better.
I knew that if I didn’t go, there’d be trouble. France would haunt me, as it always does. I’d wake up every morning wanting to go, wondering why I didn’t.
This knowledge didn’t stop the panic attacks. They were almost debilitating. I starting getting them about six weeks before departure; I blame a random guy I met while traveling on business. We were talking about the world, his nonprofit, his network — and our mutual colleagues. That’s when it dawned on me: My life was pretty good. I have a job in which I’m excelling and acquired more responsibilities and freedom. I have connections in powerful places. I have growth opportunities and the groundwork of a solid career.
Then it hit me: I have groundwork. I hate foundations. I don’t like to be settled or tied down. I like to be free. This, of course, explains why I don’t have a big group of close friends; I don’t stick around long enough to build those types of relationships. Maybe, despite being such a “people person,” I’m really a loner at heart. (Sadly, I don’t believe that for a second.)
It was hard to calm myself down. It was hard to talk to anyone about it, as I feared my support was waning anyways. One day when I was particularly anxious, my mother looked at me and said, “You know, you don’t have to go.”
She always has a way of knowing exactly what I’m fretting about without me saying a word. But she also knew my answer before I said it. “Yes, Mom, I do.”
Every time the panic would hit, I’d remind myself that this is my opportunity to DO SOMETHING. I’m a ball of potential; my mentors know it, strangers know it, I know it. It’s time to prove it. Throwing myself in an unfamiliar environment is going to make me do something. I’ll have to.
Sitting on this plane that will take me to my next adventure, I’m starting to realize it’s time to figure out exactly what that something will be.
Good thing I have all summer to think about it.
I mean, it was for almost the entire year or so I planned for it. I fought off comments intended to dissuade me, I laid out a detailed financial plan to prove I can afford it (which, admittedly, I fudged slightly… because it's not going to be easy), I shrugged when people told me I was going to a mediocre school in France instead of a great school in the States, because I knew better.
I knew that if I didn’t go, there’d be trouble. France would haunt me, as it always does. I’d wake up every morning wanting to go, wondering why I didn’t.
This knowledge didn’t stop the panic attacks. They were almost debilitating. I starting getting them about six weeks before departure; I blame a random guy I met while traveling on business. We were talking about the world, his nonprofit, his network — and our mutual colleagues. That’s when it dawned on me: My life was pretty good. I have a job in which I’m excelling and acquired more responsibilities and freedom. I have connections in powerful places. I have growth opportunities and the groundwork of a solid career.
Then it hit me: I have groundwork. I hate foundations. I don’t like to be settled or tied down. I like to be free. This, of course, explains why I don’t have a big group of close friends; I don’t stick around long enough to build those types of relationships. Maybe, despite being such a “people person,” I’m really a loner at heart. (Sadly, I don’t believe that for a second.)
It was hard to calm myself down. It was hard to talk to anyone about it, as I feared my support was waning anyways. One day when I was particularly anxious, my mother looked at me and said, “You know, you don’t have to go.”
She always has a way of knowing exactly what I’m fretting about without me saying a word. But she also knew my answer before I said it. “Yes, Mom, I do.”
Every time the panic would hit, I’d remind myself that this is my opportunity to DO SOMETHING. I’m a ball of potential; my mentors know it, strangers know it, I know it. It’s time to prove it. Throwing myself in an unfamiliar environment is going to make me do something. I’ll have to.
Sitting on this plane that will take me to my next adventure, I’m starting to realize it’s time to figure out exactly what that something will be.
Good thing I have all summer to think about it.
