Chasing the Dream

It was deep in the pit of my stomach, wriggling around, expanding, contracting, constantly reminding me of its presence.  Talking at me, creating pictures in my mind.  It was particularly hard to ignore on those days at work.  You know the ones; the boss gets on your nerves, someone else's emergency means you need to work late, no thanks for all your efforts.  And then on those days when it rained.  Or was windy.  Or the telly was rubbish.

'Get out of here', it screamed.

I knew it was right.  It was time for me to do something.  I knew, had always known, that I would need to do this at some point or other.  But it's just so scary.

How do you do it?  How do you pack up your life and start wandering the globe at will?  How do you give up your home comforts and the closeness of family and friends?  How do you stop worrying about things like pensions and medical insurance, and start worrying about how to buy a train ticket when you don't speak the language?

Scary or not, it was time.  My dormant travel bug had woken up.  And wouldn't stop squirming and shouting.

Slowly, I began to think, to dream.  Just in case I found enough courage, I started to save money.  From dreaming to planning, it began to take the shape of something possibly real.  Life began to throw me aid, like the person who wanted to lodge in my spare room and the small windfall that brought rosy cheeks to my slim travel fund.

The more I planned, the braver I got, the less scary it seemed. 

Until finally that day dawned.  I had been up all night.  Packing.  Getting stressed.  Not knowing whether I was stressed about what I was leaving or where I was heading.  A sad farewell at the train station.  A fast train to London with the uncomfortable elbows of another tired passenger in my side, keeping me awake.

My mind wandered, but not too far.  Overwhelmed with the enormity of what I was doing, my brain could only deal with immediate tasks.  Getting to London.  Saying goodbye to friends there.  Getting to Heathrow.  Checking in.  Boarding.  If I had stopped to think about why I was doing all these tasks I would have been frozen to the spot and ceased to function.

My stomach churned.  Was it excitement?  Was it fear?  Exhausted, I talked too much and struggled to listen.  I couldn't sleep.  Once asleep, I couldn't wake.  Highly attuned to the moment, I felt every tiny lump in the train seat and every sensation in my body; tingling fingers, electricity in my hair; the cure for my itchy feet.

Is this how it should feel while you're on the verge of fulfilling a dream?

Probably, if it's worth chasing.