Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin.
That’s an Irish saying I heard the other day that’s stuck with me (the Irish call their language Irish, though we Americans also call it Gaelic). It means “There’s no fireside like your own fireside.” Don’t ask me to pronounce it, I haven’t made it that far in my Irish Language and Culture class, but it’s something I’m holding on to on this trip.
I’m a homebody. Study abroad is something I chose to do as a challenge to myself and, while every day has been a bit tough in its own way, the greatest challenge I’ve had to face so far was the hours before I left.
I was in my pajamas, teeth brushed and bags packed. It was midnight. I had a flight at 10:45am that would get me into Dublin, Ireland at 9:00 am the next day. I set an alarm set for 7:09am (I try not to use multiples of five when setting my clock–far too predictable). I’d just programmed my phone so it would work internationally. I laid down to go to sleep.
Immediately, I was struck by the immensity of the universe, crushed by the weight of space and time pressing down on me, terrified by my own smallness in this world.
“Nooooope,” I said, and I got up, grabbed my teddy bear and the blanket I was wrapped in when I was born, and went down to my momma’s room to engage in a ten-hour panic attack.
“I don’t want to go anymore,” I told her, tense and shaking on the right side of my momma’s queen-sized bed, “I want to stay here, but I know I’ll hate myself if I don’t do this. I have to do this. It’s just so far away.”
And that was, in essence, my mantra for the next ten hours. I reasoned with myself aloud and Momma listened and agreed with me. I’m logical. I’d paid the tuition and I’d calmly burned my bridges to get spring classes at Puget Sound and now I just had to get on a plane. I know myself and I know I can make the best of any situation if I must. Still, my stomach churned furiously and I wanted to throw up, or run forever, or cry until everyone agreed that I should stay in the States. I could be logical all I wanted and it didn’t help. I’d never travelled by myself, never taken a plane alone, never gone outside the USA for more than ten days. Now I was going for a little over three months, alone and friendless. I was terrified.
My dad relieved my momma once she and I made it to the airport and he sat with me as I stared at the wall. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, my guts too full of adrenaline for food. I had slept maybe four hours. Somehow, I was still shaking faintly. Dad got me to laugh a couple times, then walked me to security. He went to get a boarding pass so he could come through the line and sit with me until my plane left, but then I saw him hanging over the edge of the maze that led to TSA.
“No dice, sweetheart. They’re not selling me any. I love you. I’ll talk to you later.” We hugged and he was gone.
I was alone now.
Beautifully, mercifully, I became calm. I went through the line patiently and got to my gate, watching rain sprinkle my city through the huge glass windows. I managed to eat.
Post-panic attack breakfast!
Then I got on a plane and, seventeen hours later, I stepped off of another plane and onto the Emerald Isle.
I don’t know what it was that calmed me. Perhaps it was the fact that I had a mission: GET ON THE PLANE. It could be that, once my parents left, I had only myself to rely upon. Maybe it was the familiarity of waiting in line, taking off shoes and belts and such, and then rushing to the gate. It was a relief, however it happened.
Sometimes logic doesn’t help you feel any better. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do to make yourself believe you’ll be okay. You just have to know that you made a choice and you’re sticking to it. “There’s no going back,” that’s what I kept telling myself. “There’s no surrender here. You are going far away and you will be coming back.” And then I kept moving forward, no matter how much I wanted to run the other direction.
I have “This too shall pass” tattooed on my hip for a reason. I forget sometimes that things get better. Keep moving and trust that things will be okay, that’s the best advice I can give to those who want to stay home when the time comes to depart. You’ll miss out on something wonderful, strange, and exhilarating if you stay still. Go on.
An áit a bhuil do chroí is ann a thabharfas do chosa thú. Your feet will bring you to where your heart is.