Soren and Sleep

Those who know me know I deal with anxiety issues. Those who know me well know how I calm myself down, a tall glass of cold milk, cooking shows, solitaire, my mother, or sleep. I'm a huge believer on sleeping things off, whether they be anxiety attacks, hangovers, or seasonal colds. I believe sleeping on major issues, and that you do your best thinking in bed. Which is all hunky dory if you can sleep. Which I currently cannot. And so when my anxiety brings it's best friend insomnia over, I turn to the best invention to occupying your brain for hours with useless data, the internet. 

And while perusing the great web tonight, I searched a favorite site of mine that collects humorous, insightful, and thought provoking quotes from books. Those of you who know me really, really well know that I not only have a deep passion for random facts, I also genuinely love a good quote. By copy and pasting i collect pages of quotes in word documents. When I am feeling like I hate school, I look up quotes. Love your sisters but can't stand to be in the same room at times, look up a quote. Can't figure out how to start that greeting card, look at quotes. And tonight I googled "quotes on anxiety" and discovered a pure gem, “To venture causes anxiety, but not to venture is to lose one's self.... And to venture in the highest is precisely to be conscious of one's self.” ( Søren Kierkegaard)

I felt that through the wide web, through my iPhones screen, through my bleary eyed insomnia, Soren was pointing at me. Basically saying,"so what you are anxious about leaving. It's part of the package. To climb aboard a massive jet to be propelled across oceans thousands of feet in the air, to land on foreign soil that has had government for longer than your country has had cave drawings, to meet and live with near strangers and to be the caregiver of a small child who is learning to speak a different language, to live in a country that doesn't have moose, believes roosters say "chicker ree chee" and where the beer is way better. This is stressful. This should cause anxiety." 

I feel my family and friends would be more worried if I packed up and left with out a few nonsensical impulse purchases, without a few sleepless nights, and without a few random texts from me at one am asking what the hell am I doing. 

What the hell I am doing is "venturing" is using my freedom and cultivating the dizzying anxiety that comes with it into very organized packing, high calcium intake, and the desire to be conscious of myself, to know I don't know all, to learn, to love, to grow. 

And hoping I eventually fall asleep. 

I Hate Anxiety, But it Loves Me

After I finished working, I threw myself into my next project, cleaning my room. Which provided many surprises, my aunt's old Spanish text book, boxes of Little Amelia baby clothes, and the realization my sister had more things stashed and stored in my closet than I did. I organized, dusted, vacuumed, and sorted through clothes for donation items to goodwill, summer clothes for storage, and things I actually want to stay and see daylight.

And now that I am done cleaning, I have a few errands to run. Errands comprising of picking up my new mac book and then speaking sternly at the bank people for once again messing up the ordering of my new card. I have a dentist appointment, a physical, and an eye doctor appointment scheduled. I will be babysitting for a cousin, and seeing a friend's play.

In a nutshell, I am bored. Which leads to worry, which leads large amounts of anxiety, which shows it self in insomnia and stress eating.

However, there are people who have my back. In regards to the stress eating, my mother has stocked the cupboards with food and let me buy fancy cheese. My grandparents, unknowing of how I was feeling, planned a trip to a buffet, where I had more than two desserts, in true Mills fashion. For the insomnia, the cat is very willing to stay up late keeping me company as I channel surf during the commercials of Dateline reruns.

My mother said to me tonight, after I overreacted when realizing an error my bank made, "You are bound to have anxiety, masses of it. You are making a huge life decision."

Which is entirely true. I am simply not going on a "trip", I am moving. I am leaving everything I am comfortable with, my bed, my car, my native tongue, to live in a country that speaks a much older language with stricter grammar rules. A country that relies heavily on public transport, that has had socialized health care for decades, a country where twice as much electricity runs through their outlets. A country that has buildings older than America, where history is right around the corner, and football is hard to find.

In realizing what the hell I am doing, I am also realizing those who are there for me. You met in a previous post, my friend Colten, who's response to my declaration of wanderlust summed up all my friends'. Along with Colten, Dana, Caitlin, Justin, Andrea, Isabel, Reid, Kristina, Julia, and others didn't blink an eye at my purchase of a one way ticket to a foreign land. Instead, they helped in every unique way they could. Whether it is with a glass of wine, a sushi dinner, or reassuring me that I am not crazy (well, not all crazy), my friends have believed that I am doing the right thing. Or they are just really good at hiding it. As my fly date comes closer and closer, I am realizing I will miss them more than just about anything. Thank god for social media and the Internet. And that fact that they are all wander bugs and might visit, or at least will write from their own travel destinations.

And then there is my family. My father (who may be more worried than I am, he really should of never watched the movie Taken) was a huge influence on me falling in love with travel. He would hand me the globe during TV commercials and ask to find Managascar, the city closest to the mouth of the Nile, or would run his own farm worn fingers down the trail the Nez Perce fled. And now I feel I am ready to see what that globe has to offer. Dad lived for a year in Switzerland. A year, that from his stories, I believe was full of fondue, skiing the Alps, and traveling to France to play basketball. My father is being supportive in his own way, making sure all my finances are in order, placing vitamin bottles within reach, and telling me that although he is very proud of me, that I better not talk to strangers.

My sisters are doing what they do best. Being sisters. I get the feeling both are slightly jealous, going to miss me, and at the same time can't wait till I leave so they can go through the clothes I leave and reclaim anything that I might of possibly taken from them.....such as when one let me live in her apartment for a month.

My mother, is being my mother. Anyone who knows her, knows her to be a rock. She is helping by oohing and ahhing over the purchase of my new, chic, European looking winter clothes (thank god for H&M), handing me bags of chocolate, and above all else, understanding how anxious and stressful it can be to start a new adventure in your life.

As I lay awake at night thinking what pair of gloves to pack, reminding myself to call the bank for the fifth time, and spend hours silencing my brain with playing Sims, I know the anxiety won't leave.

I barely speak German. I am terrified of airplanes. I have never been away from Eastern Washington for more than three weeks. I may not be afraid of snakes, spiders, birds, or failing. But I may be afraid of this.

I will have wifi. I will be able to text other iphone users anytime. I will be able to see my friends in Germany. My mother does know how to work her email and her smart phone. Caitlin will cheer me up with stories of Sims and dogs, text me every waking moment, and tell me that I am awesome. And if all else fails, I will beg Justin to fly and rescue me. And if I know my best friend, he would fly across the ocean to get me. Then would stand me up, dust me off, take me shopping, and tell me I am crazy. Its an adventure. Its supposed to be anxious. Even Indiana Jones is afraid of snakes. Now lets have some coffee, find European lovers, and get on with life.

Boredom + Childhood Dreams = Late Night Expedia Browsing

When told I am moving to Germany for nine months most people nod, smile, then ask the confused, "so, why?"

And I respond how my parents raised me, politely, I explain about finding a job as an au pair, discuss my German language skills (or lack thereof), and brush over the process that made me realize I am young and should go for it. I do not answer how I would like to.

"Why not?"

After I finished harvest in 2012, I moved back to the house in Spokane I was renting with 5 other 20 some year olds, and started working at the first place that offered me a job. The job was part time, included many hours staring at Excel and answering phones, and required me to buy skirts that went past my knees. I worked five hours a day, would ride the bus home, change into sweats, and sit in front of the TV and discuss dinner options with my roommates (Taco Bell or should we splurge for Applebees? Take out of course). I would climb into bed at around 10, and spend the next few hours surfing the net, window shopping on dating sites, designing my own Parisian apartment, or playing Oregon Trail. I was bored. Bored out of my mind. I had a college degree, yet the thought of grad school gave me hives. I had a comfortable savings account, thanks to a drawn out harvest. I had a car that I didn't drive and and a student bus pass I had lied to get.  Student loans hadn't kicked in yet. My roommates were either working full time or in school and rarely home. Cold weather set in, as did my yearly Seasonal Affective Disorder (with the very accurate acronym of SAD). I realized my weight gain from the stress of my senior thesis hadn't left, and if any thing had been added to  by the bowls of candy at the office, one of the few acceptable reasons for me to leave my desk and wander the office.

In a nutshell, I was entering a depression, and based on my numerous past experiences, I was greatly annoyed and pissed. And so one October night, accompanied by a roll of toilet paper to dry my eyes (cheaper than Kleenex), a bottle of gas station Riesling, and a bag of M&Ms, I asked myself three questions. What do you want to do? What would make you happy? What would it take to do those things?

These were the answers:
What do you want to do? The same thing I have always wanted to do since I was a young child, travel, write, and learn. 
What would make you happy? A pet giraffe, I'm sure. That or Joseph Gordon Levitt as my boyfriend. But more seriously, to travel, to write, to laugh daily, and to maybe get paid for it. 
What would it take to do those things? Well, a exotic animal breeder permit for the giraffe maybe. To travel I need some extra cash, to write I need motivation and paper, and to laugh and be happy? 

That night, while working my way through the bottle of wine, I devised a plan. I would find a way to travel, I would make myself write, I would see a giraffe in the wild (and then one in a zoo so I could pet it), I would not worry about having a boyfriend, I would get in shape, I would combat my mental illness and depression with my best weapon, myself. I would feel content.

I immediately started looking at flights to Germany, other Americans' experiences with moving to Germany, absolutely adorable lofts in Berlin. I choose Germany because I had friends there, I had minored in the language, I had been there before, and Europe was so small, I could see many countries on a budget and in a short period of time.

Sometime that night, I stumbled out into the living room where various roommates and friends were gathered watching TV and eating junk food, ignoring homework. I tearfully stated that I was moving to Germany. The one reaction I remember the clearest was my friend Colten, who simply stated, "Of course you are." He did not mean it in a condescending way, more as a blunt statement. "Of course you are." Of course Amelia would move to another country. Of course she would not go the traditional route of grad school, marriage, kids, 9 to 5 job. Of course. My tears quickly dried, and with Colten's voice ringing in my head, I went back to the drawing board. Of course this was meant to happen. Hadn't I been telling people since I was six years old that I would travel the world? Hadn't I minored in a foreign language for a reason? Hadn't I taken the mundane office job because I knew I would want to leave it after a few months? My lease was up in May, I had harvest cash stashed, and a valid passport. Of course.

Over the next few months I meticulously planned my adventure. I spent hours on google reading blogs of American travelers through Europe, I contacted friends and acquaintances who had lived abroad, and I saved money. With an idea of what monthly rent, travel expenses, and a visa would cost, I set to work. I started couponing (way easier if you get the app), I found odd jobs as a dog and house sitter, and as luck would have it, I was promoted to full time work at the office. Student loans kicked in and I cut back on movie tickets and taco bell. Through many trials and tasteless dishes, I learned to cook.

As spring approached, my parents started having their doubts. A job in Germany was not yet secured, and governmental and immigration agencies were telling me "its near impossible" through unanswered emails and voice mails to find one before I moved. From a recommendation from a college classmate, I looked at au pair sites that matched nannies to families. I set my top location at Germany, and wrote an online profile, eerily similar to one I had on a dating site. I spoke to a few families, and was offered one position, when I came across a chubby cheeked, black haired infant. I instantly fell in love, and messaged the parents. Six weeks later, contracts were being drafted and signed, and I was now actively tracking flight prices as a farmer does the weather.

This was in spring of 2013. I had lost some weight, gained some muscle, been through a small but harrowing car accident, and had worked hard in "business casual" skirts and flats. Late May I put in my notice at work, although I wasn't leaving until July. In late July I left the office life, with the realization cubicle life would of killed me if it hadn't been for my amazing coworkers who supplied me with endless amounts of gobstoppers, laughs, and the understanding that they had once been 23, idealistic, and unable to get out of bed in the morning.

Harvest came and went, quicker than I would have liked for overtime dollars would fund my adventure. I bought a flight, a brand new suitcase, backpack, camera, computer, cellphone. One warm Sunday afternoon in early September I puttered around in dad's '92 Chevy Extended Bed Pickup, killing it twice as I lumbered through the fields learning to drive a stick shift for the first time.

I was ready to go. Anxious and out of my mind terrified, but ready and excited. As I stuck around after harvest helping with paperwork and filing I was met with the same question I had heard almost a year ago. "So, why?" My answer had not changed much, "I'm just not ready for grad school. I minored in German. I love kids."

However, inwardly I answered the question, "Because I can. Because I have wanted to since I was six. Because I am young and idealistic and bored for adventure. Because, why not?"

It is now early October, almost a year has passed since I have made my decision to make my own adventure. I am now not working, and will use the next few weeks to pack and get ready (and yes, clean my room, Mom). As those closest to me will attest, I am anxious, and scared, and excited, and more confident than I have ever been in my life.

I am doing what I want to do. I am traveling. I am writing (kind of). I am going to see the world, or at least, a part of it I have not yet seen. I have worked extremely hard to get to this point, and I am hella proud of myself.

And welcome to my travel blog, where I will detail my adventure, my childhood dream, and how your twenties are made to not give a shit.

"Your twenties are your 'selfish' years. It's a decade to immerse yourself in every single thing possible. Be selfish with your time, and all the aspects of you. Tinker with shit, travel, explore, love a lot, love a little, and never touch the ground." (Kyoto Escamilla)

Now, raise your Riesling, and lets toast to being 23, being selfish, travel, and thanking our Good Lord that I didn't set my sights on a pet giraffe.