Nerves and new beginnings

Nerves are a funny thing; no matter how hard I try to disregard them and give them no time of day, I am always unsuccessful. From a very young age, I have suffered from extreme nerves, kind of like butterflies on a mad cocaine binge. They aren’t like the hiccups, where drinking water upside down or pretending to scare you silly can make them pass, they just settle in and don’t exit the system until the reason they appeared, is complete. I hate people who say they don’t get nervous, are you serious? I also hate people that don’t blush! Maybe if I weren’t such a pale bitch, my skin wouldn’t turn brighter than a tomato fresh off a hot plate, every time I got embarrassed. These feelings combined, nerves and blushing, are the Bain of my existence.

As I was sitting at the airport on Sunday, my friends and family in tow, I couldn’t shake the nerves that I had pushed deep down for the past few weeks, ok months.  I also had a case of the sweats from Sydney’s sweltering heat, the disgraceful amounts of shots I had consumed on the final supper before my departure, and learning that the Harbour Bridge was temporarily closed and being taken over by Danish Royalty! Didn’t they know I have a flight to catch?! As mum placed the gin in front of me, I buried my face in it and threw it down the hatch, anything to take the edge off and relax a little. Trying to engage in my last face to face conversations with my favorite people in the world, all I could think about was how far away from them I was soon to be, and how I was going to control the tears that were about to stream down my face and flood the entire airport.

What I was afraid of; Leaving my friends and family, my absolute saving grace in this life, starting a new journey 10,000 miles from home, and mostly, travelling on my own. I have always been completely at ease in my own company, and I was actually looking forward to getting on that long ass flight to have some down time, sleep when I want and have someone to bring me drinks at the press of a button, but I was afraid of even getting through customs on my own, with no one to answer my vague questions.   

On good days, I can be very practical and sharp witted, on others, I lack common sense, say the daftest things and rely on everybody else to do things for me. These traits aren’t that life threatening or reason to stage an intervention, but as I was a about to embark on this trip solo, it dawned on me that I should have listened more in general,  learned how to read a map and find north!  I have always blamed common sense mishaps on’ blonde moments’, but as I get older and the more my roots show through my platinum blonde hair, nobody buys it anymore, and most importantly, I don’t buy it anymore. It was time to embrace being a ‘big girl’ and get empowered by my independence.

One of my friends tipped me off that once goodbyes are done, turning back to see faces filled with sadness is the worst thing you can do. As I walked towards the doors, red faced and crying like a big baby, I couldn’t help but turn around. Yeah, that was like taking a bullet. Rule number one broken.

I hate customs, I hate everything about it. Nothing makes me feel more like Shapelle Corby than a bunch of power tripping security guards, trawling through my belongings for traces of anything that could take down a plane or breach serious laws. I know its protocol and I’m not the only person that suffers from the paranoia, but I also know that packing my bag minutes before leaving for the airport, was certainly going to catch up with me sooner, rather than later. I got half way through the scanny machine before I was hurled back to sort out my shit. Rule number two broken.

After a smooth flight and thought of reuniting with my big sister after 2 years, excitement replaced the previous mentioned nerves, my visa was valid and passport in check, surely there could be no dramas. Wrong!  UK Boarder security awaited me, as I dragged my heavy luggage up and showed obvious signs of fatigue, the not so gentle gentleman, with flaming red hair and in need of a coffee at the ungodly hour, took me way down! All I had missed off my entry card was my sister’s address, but having no phone service and no way of finding out what is was, him threatening to put me in a room until I figured it out, left me with only one option. Bat the hell out my luscious false eye lashes and turn this fire crotches day right around. And that I did, he lectured me one more time, stamped me through, a firm stamp might I add, and I was off. Pfft, I learned at school that getting a lecture is like your parents giving the ‘disappointed’ speech, way more welcome than any form of punishment. If I were game, and not afraid of prison, I would have turned around and told him that I was ‘shaking in my boots’. But I chose life! Rule number three broken.  

 So here I am, in ‘The Motherland’. I made it, I’m loving it and as for finding north? Whatever, so long as I can find Top Shop and decent coffee, I’m winning!