Anxiety, art, and appetite

I'm starting to understand why people are so scared of being alone; it's because it is effing scary.

Part of me wants to just edit out this part, to wear the proud, independent face that says I was just fine traveling alone; but I've spent all this time talking about honesty and vulnerability so here it is.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I spent the majority of yesterday having a minor anxiety attack - I could feel my heart absolutely pounding out a beat, I kept having to remind myself to breathe deeply, and my neck became incredibly sore just from tension. You know that warm feeling you get in your abdomen and chest when you're scared? Yep. All day.

Twenty minutes was devoted to looking up flights home, ten minutes to writing an email to my mom asking her to remind me that it would be an unwise way to spend $1400. The time change made it hard to find someone at home to talk to, but I was lucky to reach one very optimistic friend who told me gently, but firmly and under no uncertain terms, to get myself out of the apartment. 

I stopped for a cafe au lait (like a latte, but way better) and marched myself right over to the Louvre. Holy cow, I had forgotten how impressive that complex is. It used to the home of France's royalty (until Versailles was built) and thus is HUGE.

Because it was a weekend, the place was packed but the tour I went on was made up of about eight people. I made friends with a middle-aged woman from Colorado who was traveling with her husband and we got to talking. She made me feel so much better. The tour was great - not too long but with lots of fun little details and facts - and my new friend (whose name I never learned) gave me a hug at the end and told me that I was going to be just fine and that I'd have a great time. Phew. I needed that.

The walk home was about 45 minutes, and I stopped to pick up some snacks. A bitter-sweet thing I inherited from my mother is that any kind of stress or anxiety causes me to lose my appetite. Completely. I haven't been hungry since landing here and what little I've eaten is just due to knowing that not eating isn't okay. I'm furious because I keep walking past these restaurants and bakeries and cafes and I know the food should look incredible, and yet it just causes my stomach to constrict even tighter. This will pass as I relax and I'll try to make up for lost time. But for last night, I got in just before the rain and curled up in my bed with cookies, yogurt, and a kiwi (healthy, right?) and watched a movie. One more brief moment of anxiety before dropping off to sleep, and this morning came before I knew it.

Today was better - much less anxiety - but I'll talk about that later. I will end with this, however: I'm now starting to understand people's obsession with Paris. What a city!

P.S. - My mom's email response to me was essentially "You can do it. Now take that $1400 you're not going to spend on a flight home and book yourself some tours! It'll go a long way!" I love you, Mama.

Fly in the ointment

I do this thing right at the very start of every trip where I second guess the whole thing. For a short while, I just know that the whole idea was not a good one and I should have just stayed home where things are familiar - my city, my friends, my routine, my bed. What usually gets me out of this rut is whoever I'm traveling with telling me to buck up and get it together.

Houston, we have a problem. There isn't anyone else here to tell me to suck it up and go out. There is nobody to coax me into a new outfit and out the door, where I'm sure I will remember all the reasons that make this such a great idea.

My flight was a very pleasant one, despite the fact that I was in the middle row. I sat next to a very kind couple (Evangel and Carmi) and they were a treat to talk to. The food was decent, the movie selection was varied, and despite the lack of window or friend's shoulder I got about 3-4 hours of sleep. It certainly didn't feel nine hours long!

Carmi, Evangel, and I all caught the train from the airport to downtown Paris together and fate also allowed that they needed to catch the same metro line as myself, so we did that together too. Then I said goodbye, got off at my stop, headed up into the daylight to text my host so she could come get me from the station and ... failed to send. No worries. Try again. Failed to send. Craaappp. I tried several variations/additions, muttered curses at the phone company who told me this would be just fine, waved off the young guy trying to be "helpful" and made my way into a coffee shop where the nice man called my host and told her where I was. Thank goodness there are kind people in this world.

Anne came and picked me up and brought me the two blocks back to her place, which is adorable. She is obviously an incredibly kind person, and has helped me with a map, given me some suggestions, let me take a nap (my run-of-nights, two-days-of-a-semi-normal-schedule, eight-hour-time-changed body is very confused), and now I'm trying to convince myself to go out. I know (part of me does, anyhow) that once I get out of here and start seeing Paris I'll remember why I came; why I decided that "nobody had the same vacation time as me" wasn't a good enough excuse not to travel.

I know I need to just do it - get up off this bed, grab my jacket (I think it's warmer in Edmonton today .. boo!) and go see something that makes my jaw drop. I'm thinking Notre Dame. Maybe that's just what the doctor ordered.

This is it

I have gotten some very mixed reviews on my plans to travel to Paris and Rome by myself. Generally I get one of two reactions; Reaction 1: "Wow! That is so exciting and brave! Good for you ... you're going to have an amazing time!" Reaction 2: "Oh. Wow. That sounds a bit scary. I could never do that."

There have definitely been way more Reaction 1s than 2s, which is reassuring. Whether saying it admiringly or worriedly, whenever someone says "I couldn't do that" I want to yell right in their faces, "I'm not sure I can either! That's the whole point!" I think mostly it's the nervous tension I'm feeling that makes me want to yell it - I am scared; really nervous about what this trip will be like - but I really don't feel like there's anything that makes me more capable of this than anyone else I know. If anything, I feel less equipped for this than I think many of my friends would be/are.

Tomorrow is departure day and I still have quite a lot of things to do before then. I'm also nursing a brutal cold that came out of nowhere. Literally, yesterday morning when I got up I was fine. I had a little trouble staying on top of my breathing when I went for a run, but still felt okay when I got home. After an afternoon nap I woke up with a pounding headache, congested sinuses, and that thick, fuzzy feeling that accompanies a bad cold. I've been knocking back the fluids and vitamins and I'm crossing my fingers that I'll have kicked the worst of this by the time I land in Paris in ... 38 hours!

It's strange to admit that the thing that annoys me most about this cold is that I have no appetite. This is the one symptom that I consider to be completely unacceptable in light of where I'm going. I want to eat ALL THE FOOD. I want to want to eat all the food. 

We shall see what tomorrow brings, and how I cope with all the independence. I hope to keep a journal to record my thoughts and rants on this coming-of-age trip. I will read some books, stare at beautiful men, savour my wine, taste new foods, feed my soul the food of incredible sights and sounds. I shall embrace the solitude as a friend I don't yet know but plan to love.