In the grip of fear

Everyone thinks I’m a bit crazy for going so far away all on my own. Even I think I’m crazy. I’m shivering, I feel something crushing my heart, I can’t breathe. But it’s not so far away after all. And I’m not leaving for good. How can this be so hard? Millions and millions of years ago nomads kept on moving from one place to another. They weren’t burdened with cultivating crops, taking care of livestock or worrying about money, they explored and were looking for adventures. Ever since we’ve been living in large cities, we get our food in shops, we go through the same routine and every day’s the same, we look at new people as strangers and immigrants, we safely guard our little bubble of safety and comfort as if it were the greatest treasure, and we’re blind to new ideas. I can feel a lump in my throat just by thinking about this adventure. It’s happening. It’s real. Heroes in books and films are so brave – they don’t look back and disregard the antagonists whose intention is to deter them from achieving their goal. Ok, let’s ignore the fact that the story is fictional, that Hollywood added dramatic effects and that the characters are just actors giving it as much as they’ve got. They’re so brave, fearless, diving headfirst into fires, crocodile infested waters, jump through a window of a crumbling skyscraper, just to save a basket with small kittens. And I’m here, walking at a snail’s pace towards the woman behind the counter where I leave the coins, mumble the destination and take the train ticket. A mistake! something thunders in my mind. Most stupidly wasted money. You should go to the cinema instead, get some ice cream or buy another pair of shoes, what could you possibly do with a real adventure? And then I end up arguing with myself somewhere in a corner of the train station, looking at the clock, biting my nails, wondering whether I should go or not, staring at people entering Maccies and leaning on the walls while obsessively checking their Facebook and Instagram feeds and rushing towards the trains with their bags and suitcases. It makes me want to demand my money back and return home defeated.

I think about what is it that I want in the first place. Why am I embarking on this journey? Because I haven’t a clue. Under a blanket of expectations, I completely forgot what I really want, who I am and why I even live. And surely, I’m not the only one. But I am one of the few who have turned their questions into actions. I’m looking at the ticket. Biting my lip. I want something new and different, something exhilarating that will inspire me, shock me, wake me up, I want to break away from daily routine, from negative and pessimistic people, I don’t want to cry anymore, I want to laugh, stare at the blue sky, the aurora borealis, blue rivers, green forests, stone houses, flying birds, I want to listen crickets sing, chase after butterflies in a meadow, count stars and spot a shooting star, I want to scream with all my might and take it out on the world without anyone judging me. And the hand on the clock moves too fast; my legs are wobbly; my knees are shaking; my throat is dry, regardless of how much water I drink; it feels like I’m taking an oral A level exam; I have a headache; I can hear my heart beating; I step onto the train and already I’m haunted by the first thought – what if I’m on the wrong train that will take me to somewhere completely unknown and the whole trip turns out to be a disaster. What was I even thinking is what pops into my head. I try to remember why I even embarked on something like this. I can look at the sky at home, I can walk in the forest at home and pick chestnuts, I can visit the old part of my hometown just as I would in Budapest, Vienna or Prague. I can walk to the nearest lake and listen to the silence. I’ve got everything at my arm’s reach. Why go anywhere else now?

There are thousands of different paths around you, paths that can take you on thousands of different adventures. Each path teaches you a lesson. Somewhere you fall down a hole and have to learn to hope, persevere and fight. Another path teaches you how to be careful, how to trust and help. And yet another path gives you prudence and obedience. Somewhere you follow and listen. Elsewhere you resist and you run. You look into sunset from each direction and yet from each angle you see it differently. A fall will anger you and make you want to cry, and another fall will make you laugh. A flight among the stars will touch you, while another one won’t mean a thing. One obstacle will be painful and decisive, the next full of love and happiness. Each direction will give you some form of experience. One fist will punch you in the “gob”, while another will embrace and protect you. Each direction has its own story, its own lesson. But if you’re stuck in one place and don’t get to experience any of them, then you don’t learn anything, meet anyone, nor discover anything new. You merely exist. You have no hope. You’re empty. Without purpose. You don’t live. You’re only familiar with the details of a single universe, while thousands of other universes float around it, yearning to be discovered and admired. You don’t feel the wind on your cheeks, the pointy rocks underneath your feet, or your heart throbbing, triggered by adrenaline. You don’t reach the top of the hill or breath in the air that touches your lungs and then escapes out of them. You don’t get to experience the feeling of sitting on rock debris and watching the gushing river down below, flowing into the sea, or the clouds touching the horizon, or the unknown that hides behind the curtain of gases and rays unveiled only by curiosity. Isn’t the point of humanity to breath with nature and admire its beauty? To travel, after all, means to live.

I wish I wasn’t such a cry-baby, that I was brave and fearless as those who venture out into the desert with only a backpack and a motorcycle, surviving solely thanks to their skills, I wish I was more spontaneous and would live more for the moment, that I would more often go with the flow, without thinking and by cutting to the chase. I’m sitting on the chair, looking outside; I want to get off the train, but I don’t move because I’m completely frozen with fear; the door soon close and the train starts moving, while I’m screaming inside and panic settles in. I’m clutching the ticket and my arm is shaking when I show it to the conductor. I lean back on the soft cushion. I listen to the beating of the wheels on the tracks. I stare at the green landscape underneath me. I don’t know what awaits me, what’s going to happen, if I’m really going to get lost and what wonders I’ll get to see.

I exhale all the tension. I get lost in my mind, here and now. I feel like a bird. That has finally managed to break free.