I just did some math and realized that today marks exactly 2 weeks since I found myself flying over the Atlantic Ocean, drinking orange juice out of a plastic cup and watching Burlesque (Cher and Christina Aguilera’s horribly awesome perfect plane movie) on my way to stuff my face beside my beloved family in Tuscany before traveling indefinitely around the world.
The Sincero's in Tuscany, pushing the limits of what's possible for human food consumption.
Making such an intense and radical change with zero notice has pretty much dredged up all my issues around being self-sufficient, being too self-sufficient, making money, spending money, fear of the unknown, fear of the known, loneliness, indecision, getting lost, getting sick and spending too much on an Italian leather jacket because I couldn’t wrap my brain around how many dollars I’d just spent in Euros.
Up until now I’ve been rather proud of myself for staying comfortable in the discomfort, focusing on my excitement and staying in the moment in regards to my big life changearoo.
Then yesterday, for some reason, the shit hit the fan. I don’t know if it was my 2 week anniversary present to myself or the fact that I’m no longer too jet lagged to think straight, but I was suddenly seized by fear.
Specifically the fear of being alone.
The thought of moving to some strange country where I don’t speak the language and don’t know anyone while spending my time writing and internet marketing in solitude in front of my computer made me want to give Mom a call and tell her to get the spare bedroom ready.
I suddenly thought:
I’m too old for this crap.
I’m too tired for this crap.
What am I trying to prove anyway?
Then I threw myself a rather impressive pity party that included a hearty sob session, teary skype chats with friends and several creative worst case scenario fantasies, only to wake up today feeling ready to kick some major foreign ass.
The transformation was so clean and sudden that, after I checked my calendar to confirm it couldn’t be blamed on PMS, I realized that my freak out was more about mourning than fear.
We all have to let go of certain parts of ourselves in order to grow, and it’s literally like killing off an old friend. This is why we cling to things and habits that no longer serve us – we love them and have become so comfortable with them that we don’t want to trade them in for something unknown, even if it’s potentially better (I mean, just go take a look at all the lame shit you never wear that’s festering away in your closet).
I’ve traveled all over the world, most often alone, and have had every kind of experience imaginable. But I’ve never done it as who I am now, which is someone who’s able to manifest, and manifest quickly, the things the old me thought were out of reach (money, big fat clients, a rockin business, expensive Italian leather jackets, etc.)
I attribute my little meltdown to not wanting to give the old me the heave ho. And to rebelling against growing up, admitting that I am large and in charge, and trusting that I will continue to create that which I haven’t created yet.
When we travel to new places we’re also forced to travel to new places within ourselves. All sorts of crazy stuff is thrown at us, and we have to deal with things that never even entered our consciousness before.
It’s intense. It brings up a lot of stuff. It forces you to build new muscles.
And in order to build new muscles, you must stop relying on the old ones.
The key is to trust that you can not only handle it, but that you can knock it out of the park. Any great leap into the unknown is an opportunity to trust that you live in an abundant universe, to trust that the unknown is your friend, and to trust that you are a giant badass.
So next time you find yourself having a hissy fit, let it rip, go all the way into it, scream like a baby with a diaper full of sand and then take a big fat nap. Because you’re going to need all the energy you’ve got for the gigantic heap of life waiting for you around the corner.
To be continued…..
