Of Suitcases and Anxiety

I was making my way to graduate school on foreign shores in my late 20s as a late-blooming adult. If you know of the intricacies involved in embarking on such a journey, you’d immediately understand that an Indian student traveling to North America involves packing your whole world with you and maxing out the 32 kg, 3-free bags limit of airlines. Well, it was aeons ago at this point so my memory eludes me on whether the limit was 2 bags of 32 kg checked-in and one carry-on or 3 bags of 32 kg checked-in. 

It seems such a trivial worry now but then, it was an all-consuming anxiety. How am I going to lug all of those suitcases forward from the point at the airport where my family can no longer accompany me? How am I going to lift these things onto a trolley? How am I going to push the heavy trolley? How am I going to unload the trolley at the counter to check the bags in? How am I going to transfer bags? How am I going to collect the lumbering bulk (which were not overweight though, exactly 32 kg each) and get to my relatives on the other side who would come to receive me? 

I spent sleepless nights going over every move in my head in detail. I envisioned how I would ask for help, who I could potentially ask for help and constructed the sentences I would use. On-the-day-of, goings-on looked nothing remotely like my rehearsed imagination. 

I made it though. I did it. Just like many other achievements in my life that I did not think I would be able to accomplish.

It’s ironic that for present Me to be able to wave away the intense worry of past Me as inconsequential is only possible because I did the hard thing through all the stomach-churning and windpipe-constricting anxiety. 

Past Me, I give you a hug for being brave. Bravo!