Like all human beings I am, at best, an imperfect one.
I am sometimes angry.
I sometimes lack compassion.
I dwell on negative encounters for days.
Sometimes, I react without thinking..
I am impatient.
And thinking about going to the airport and getting on a plane creates a gnawing pit in my stomach.
Don't mistake me. I have no fear of flying or agoraphobia or anything of that nature. It's just that the act of travel makes me anxious.
I insist on getting to the airport far too early because what if the security line is huge and we miss our flight?
I pay extra for early boarding privileges to sit near the front of the plane. My concern is missing our connection if were seated too far back.
I weight our bags over and over again to make sure they're under the allotted 50 pounds.
I create endless contingency plans for scenarios that will never occur. Like if I am taken aside for screening and then detained.
I know that these are silly fears. The worst thing that can happen in any of these situations is wasted time or a little extra money. It's happened many times and everyone bears it well. We find something to eat, a quiet corner with a power outlet and watch movies. We play games and read stories.
The delays become easier each year as the kids grow. Now they require almost no intervention (besides a little electricity).
But my head still hurts and my stomach lurches as if they were babies and were running out of milk or diapers.
Jane is well aware of my neuroses and she compensates as best she can.
It makes no sense. I don't know why my brain tries to sabotage itself.
And all I can do is push it down the best I can and keep moving.