I wrote my second blog post about my trip from home to Morocco, and how my fear of flying affected it. It’s a little silly to read through now, even though it was only a month ago. I had so much fear and anxiety inside me that I wrote nearly a thousand words exclusively about my flights and feelings relating to them. It was even worse in the month leading up to departure. Every time somebody asked if I was excited, I only ever responded with grief about being on an airplane. I must’ve been a huge bummer, and my list of pre-departure regrets only grows from there.
I’ve already posted about my worry about societal roles and air travel, but that pattern is getting kind of old. If I write this in-depth about every single fear or anxiety I encounter, I’ll have written a very long and emotionally draining novel:
Chapter 1: I’m Scared to Travel Alone
Chapter 2: I Hate Flying
Chapter 3: The Horror of a Long-Distance Relationship
Chapter 4: I Don’t Know Any Languages
Chapter 5: I’m Scared of Being a Woman
Chapter 6: I’m Doomed by My Sense of Direction
Chapter 7: I Don’t Know How Taxis Work
Chapter 8: Unaware of Unspoken Social Rules
Chapter 9: I Really Don’t Like Heights
Chapter 10: Seriously, How Do Taxis Work Here?!
I’m happy to say that, despite all my time wasted on worry, I haven’t let fear hold me back. Every single time, I rose up to the challenge and did what I needed to do. Over the weeks, I kept surprising myself, and my curiosity grew. Why was I so terrified, but also being so uncharacteristically courageous?
There were times where I was just forced to be brave, like when I needed to take a taxi by myself for the first time. I still didn’t understand how the system worked. I could either: 1.) Flag down a petit taxi and attempt explaining where I needed to go to someone who doesn’t speak English; or 2.) Awkwardly wander around the grand taxis with set destinations, hoping someone would direct me to one set for Bassatine (I genuinely don’t know how Moroccans just know which ones go where. There’s no sign or indication anywhere on the street or vehicle itself).
Neither option sounded great, but it was a 15-minute drive to somewhere I needed to be in 15 minutes. I wish I could say that I navigated everything perfectly, but honestly, it was a bit of a hot mess. I waved down a petit taxi and told the driver the name of the neighborhood I was going to but had zero idea how to describe the specific spot. So, I sat next to the woman in the back seat, and frantically searched for a voice memo that I’d been sent as a reference. Once it was located, I handed my phone up to the driver, but he didn’t speak French, which was apparently what the memo was in. He then handed my phone to the lady next to me, who replayed it a few times before finally telling the driver where I was going.
Then we took off, and I was really crossing my fingers that I was going to the right place. I was relieved when we began passing familiar streets, and handed the driver my payment. But, as I was exiting the taxi, I stepped right into a pothole and fell down as the door closed. Embarrassing. At the very least, I got there and even had my own dramatic exit. Although I’m not even close to perfect yet, I’ve become more comfortable with taxis and proud of myself for it.
I’ve taken particular interest in the times where the pressure comes from myself rather than external reasons. For example, my program went on an excursion a few weeks ago to Ifrane National Park, which included an afternoon at Azrou Adventure Park. I’d never done a ropes course or anything similar before, mostly due to my fear of heights. My peers opted for the most difficult course that made my stomach twist just by looking at it. But the idea of trying an easier one, or sitting out entirely, made me feel even worse. I had no idea why– it didn’t feel like the social pressure or fear of being left out. Nonetheless, it was enough motivation for me to put on a harness and go somewhere labeled: “NOT FOR BEGINNERS!”
Don’t get me wrong, I was shaking, sweating, and nauseous whilst watching my friends and waiting my turn. Then, once I joined our accompanying staff member on the first platform, the realization that I couldn’t turn back hit me like a slap in the face. Upon seeing my expression, he asked if I was alright, and I revealed my fright.
“Why are you doing this, then!?”
I shrugged and giggled, both because of the humorous circumstances and because I didn’t know how else to respond. Why did I do this? No matter how– I really had a good time.
I’ll give you another instance. Since my program is short in comparison to others, we have two long weekends in the place of a week-long break. My three roommates and I went to Lisbon, Portugal for this past one (which was SO much fun!!!), but I had zero ideas for the other. As time went on, everyone developed and solidified their own plans, and I was left as one of the only people without a travel group. My mind was constantly occupied by attempts to solve my pickle.
I should ask them if I can join their trip. No, that’s weird. Also, what if they don’t want me there? They likely wouldn’t mind– but still that’s weird. Plane tickets are probably expensive by now, so maybe I’ll just stay home? No. I can’t stay home while everyone else is gone. But I also can’t just latch onto somebody else’s plan. And I can’t go anywhere by myself, no way. So, I guess I could just stay at home and relax? Or wait– maybe I could go somewhere by myself? No. Yes? Well, now I want to. But that’s scary. But since I thought of it, now I have to, don’t I?
Yes, absolutely.
Traveling for four days by myself is still a really scary thought, since I’d never done anything like it before. I actually hadn’t traveled much before coming to Morocco at all. Even when I did, I was just a kid cluelessly shadowing my mom like a lost puppy. But when I imagine myself sitting in my apartment all that time thinking, “I could be somewhere else right now,” that truly sends shivers down my spine. I became plagued by nightmarish visions of myself 10 or 20 years from now, lying awake thinking about that stupid, stupid decision. The potential turmoil of mourning such opportunities and experiences is beyond spooky. This prompted a very enlightening realization: my biggest fear is, in fact, regret.
So, I guess I’ve subconsciously been trying to prevent remorse (as best as anyone can). And, as a result, I now have one plane ticket, one bed at a hostel, and a one-person itinerary for the small beach town of Essaouira, Morocco. After realizing that I could do anything as long as I was more scared about not doing it, committing to everything was surprisingly easy. Anxiety is still rattling around in my brain, and I do still obsess over how I’m getting from the train station to the airport, if eating alone will look weird, and many other obsolete details. But they’re a problem for later.
Of course, fear is a natural reaction that keeps us safe. I’m not going to start ignoring my instincts completely– that would be a very bad idea. You won’t catch me jumping into a tiger enclosure or walking the sketchy part of town at night just for fun. However, these hesitations are backed by survival needs. My terror surrounding taxis, solo travel, and heights, however, are not.
So, scare yourself into fighting your demons. Your future self is watching you from their memory right now– what do you want them to think of you?
Become petrified by regret and horrified of your own judgment. If fear is the one and only thing holding you back from something, you can’t not do it. Trust me, it makes living life a lot more fun.
DU Abroad 