The Anatomy Of Traveling With Others

If you’ve read my blog long enough you know by now that I love to travel. It’s one of the things that my husband and I bonded over when we first met. Him showing me new places and my love of being shown said places.  He usually leads and I trip along, in my own little world, per usual.

I do enjoy exploring cities by myself however, but I just have to be slightly forced too.  Like this summer in Mexico City.  G had to work, so I in turn embarked on my own adventures.  And then last fall when we were in New York, G had to work again, and I  set out solo to forge my own path.  The amount of anxiety that I felt on both occasions was unparalleled.  I always put myself through a worst case scenario to help ease my spiraling self doubt. My thought process in doing this is that if I can solve a worst case situation before hand than I shouldn’t have to worry too much about the current state of affairs and it actually does put everything in prospective for me, however, in these instances a worse case in these large cities could involve getting raped, maimed, robbed, sold into human trafficking, wake up bloody in a grimy bathtub with only one kidney, you get the idea of where my mind can go. Mexico City and New York can be so very daunting when navigating by oneself, but I have perfected the RBF (Resting Bitch Face) face and I don’t make eye contact with anyone, pretending that it will make me invisible and I do believe that it works although sometimes maybe too well when I do on those rare occasions want to be noticed.

I almost prefer these solo adventures of mine.  I never get that annoyed with myself.  If I want to sit and read a book over an overpriced glass of wine at 11 AM, I do and I will because I never judge me.  My only complaint is that the bitch always makes me pay. She can be so very rude sometimes.  So, you can imagine my trepidation when G and I are decided to embark on a group trip, one where I may or may not have tried to get out of.  Never ask me to do anything when I’ve already downed two glasses of wine because I will wholeheartedly, face bright and engaged, agree to whatever it is and then I will regret the whole messy idea of it the very next day. 

We are of course going through with the trip and I really am excited for it.  New York feels so comfortable to me now.  Like you can wear anything, be anyone and you will most likely be accepted for it because I guarantee however strange you may think you are, all you have to do is glance to your right or left and you will find someone ten times stranger and that’s ok.

So, you may ask, what gives me anxiety this time?  I will be with a group, I can trip along as much as I please without having to navigate too much of anything, but oh dear reader, that is not the case for me.  My anxiety has reached a peaking point all week as I think about and prepare for this trip.  I have pretty much bought all new clothes.  Everything in my closet seemed too dull, too over worn.  I want to look more chic than I am, more put together than I am, more New York than I am.  Do I foresee a resurgence of the Cousin Courtney character?  The likelihood of such a thing is very possible.  I also bought a new bag, got a fresh manicure and pedicure, not that anyone will be looking at my feet.  I will be wearing boots for goodness sake, but I did it anyway.  I even ordered two pieces of clothing from Free People, my favorite brand, albeit an overpriced one. 

But Elizabeth, aren’t you going with friends?  Shouldn’t you feel comfortable just being yourself?  And the simple answer is yes that should be the case if they had any idea who I really am.  The hard truth is that I suspect I expect too much from friendships or maybe it’s that I’m too sensitive.  I suspect it’s a little mixture of both of those things.  I have noticed with past friends, present friends, and quite possibly future ones that little digs are sometimes thrown my way.  It might have to do with my questionable fashion choices (past me), my social media and picture taking skills (present me) and who knows what future me will do that someone will grasp onto and then later laugh about it to me, usually at a party where others are present.  My favorite is when it’s done multiple times.  I join in at first of course, but when it’s done on multiple occasions, I can’t help but to wonder the why in that.  And just to let you know when these occasions occur you will find a frozen smile plastered on my face, a slight nod or two, but on the inside I’m screaming, “Why can’t people treat me like I treat them,” or if I’m more accurate “Why can’t you keep your thoughts about me hidden and buried instead of allowing them free reign into the world?” Or maybe that’s the whole point of friendship and I really am too sensitive. I know my husband would say I am because he’s told me before that you really only make fun of the people you really like, which is something that confuses me, but I suspect is accurate.

And then I wonder if perhaps I am the problem.  I have allowed such behavior and why is that?  Is my esteem so low that I revel in people’s negative perceptions of what I do, how I act?  I’m the one who sits there, like some sort of plastic mannequin, and never fights back because I would rather bear the weight of negativity than participate in any conflict, especially when I rarely see what good it will do me anyway. 

If you're worried about me, don’t be.  These are just my silly thoughts. They usually are fleeting, change quickly, sometimes even abruptly. I am going to New York after all, with a new wardrobe no less and a character cued and at the ready if she is needed of course although I’m going to try to go as me for once.   Wish me luck as I brave this new adventure and stay tuned next week to see how I navigate the anatomy of traveling with others.