As geeky as it sounds, this has become my mantra over the last few days.
I’ve been planning this trip since May of last year, and dreaming about it for even longer. And until recently it retained this sort of dream-like quality. It was just far enough away, just detached enough, to not be quite real. Tonight however, I’ve sat down to my last meal at home, we’re about to watch the last bit of Sunday night tv, later I’ll spend the last night in my own bed; because tomorrow, I leave home, Scotland, friends and family, and fly out to India, to begin 11 long months on the road.
Don’t get me wrong, the excitement’s still there. It’s bubbling under the anxiety like a carefully measured volcano, and I’m sure in a couple weeks (even days, maybe) I’ll settle into the travel-life and let the excitement gush forth.
For now, however, I am 100% pure and utterly shit-feart. I know I’ll look back on this all with a smile, a laugh, and more than my fair share of pride, but for now, 11 months and however many thousand miles is simply more than I’ve ever put between myself and home before, and that’s a hella daunting thought.
Still, this is what it boils down to: if a boring old Baggins from Hobbiton of the Shire can pluck up the courage to leave home with a bunch of strangers bound for lord-knows-where + dragons; all minus a smart phone, online banking and not just a sleeping bag, but a sleeping bag liner, then, I can backpack round the world and live to tell the tale.