The Return of the Terrified Traveler?

"I wish I could say that I’m surprised that my crippling, sickening anxiety has returned. But I can’t. It’s the combined feeling of regret, anxiety, terror, and insecurity.”

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I have been loving the past week of carefree travel, soaking up Prague and Slovenia (and tolerating Vienna), but this morning I awoke with a start to the feeling of a claw buried deep in my heart, a feeling I unfortunately know all too well. It’s the combined feeling of regret, anxiety, terror, and insecurity. I look around the hostel and everyone just seems so calm and so sure while I’m over here like:

What am I doing? What am I doing? How can I be spending so much money so carelessly. 700 on housing? On HOUSING?!?! What about my life? What about my future? That’s years of careful saving and pinching down the drain and for what? To say I starved myself for two months and saw some pretty places? What about my education? What about my future? What am I doing with my life? Why does this matter? Can I come home? This trip doesn’t feel important or relevant at all. This doesn’t feel special or interesting. It feels like a lovely waste of money I can’t afford to lose. Maybe I can just buy a ticket back to Madrid and simply curl in a ball for the next two months until my flight back to the States. AHHHHHHH.

I don’t really have a solution to this feeling yet. No words of wisdom to inspire you or keep you going on your travels (or, to my actual readers aka my family, make you feel confident I will continue having a super awesome fun time). All I have is this and the knowledge I can’t turn back yet I have to keep pushing forward, through work and, at least Croatia (because, I mean, come on. Croatia). Well, I guess that and hope. Hope it will all get better. I just wanted you all to know where I’m and, if you’re feeling this, too, it’s ok. However, as much I hate to say it, I think it’s a part of being an adult and a sign that you are responsible, even at your point of greatest recklessness. Embrace, hate it, ignore it. It’s your choice. Just know that that feeling that gnaws at you is gnawing at me, too. All we can do is breathe and tell it to fuck off for however long we can.

Author’s note two hours from now: B*tch, you’re swimming in a freaking lake surrounded by mountains and a castle in freaking Slovenia. Shut up.


Originally written by Katie Persons via