I’d been thinking about taking a trip for over a year. Because that’s what I do. I think about doing things for a long time before I finally snap and actually do them. I mean, my tattoo cover-up was like a decade in the making.
A combination of things pushed me over the edge and prompted me to whip out my credit card. A hectic Summer Reading program at work; the months long video project I did for my library program Deadly DeWitt; and finally, a derecho leaving us without power for over three days. When the power came back on, I was researching places to go. And I decided I was going alone. I needed a trip that was just for myself.
I admit that my first choice was San Diego. I wanted to go out west and I wanted to see some water. Besides that I didn’t have an agenda. However, I couldn’t quite make myself book that trip. The flight alone was more than I wanted to spend, but that’s because I fly first class. Not because I’m snobby, but because I’m fat. Economy/coach on the four hour flight from Chicago to Seattle taught me that my ass is worth a little extra seat and a little extra leg room.
Speaking of that Seattle flight, it’s the longest I’ve ever been on a plane and at the time I did that trip almost seven years ago that was pushing it. I decided that I’d be better off looking for something a little closer, at least for this trip. San Diego one day.
I pretty much just went through a series of potential destinations that would be easiest to fly from via the closest airport and Charleston, South Carolina ended up winning out. It was affordable, the flights were doable, and it satisfied at least something I was looking for -water to look at. It was a new place in a state that I hadn’t been to yet. Sounded good to me.
I booked it. I was going on an adventure.
Here’s the thing. I’m not very good at being an adventurous person. You could say my untreated anxiety makes every day an adventure. And I somehow forget that when I make these sorts of plans. In July, it all seems reasonable and doable.
In September, I question what I’ve done.
First of all, when it comes to traveling, there’s the packing. I’m not gifted at this. I can never decide what to wear and what to take, what I think I’ll want to have with me. I always end up taking too much. I have no chill.
Second of all, when it comes to traveling, there’s the traveling. I would benefit greatly from teleportation because I am also not gifted at traveling. I’ve flow on five trips in my life, including Charleston. Two of those trips were pre-9/11. Of the three post-9/11 trips, I had my bag searched when I went to Seattle and I got a pat down as my toll for Charleston. Both of these incidents happened at my local airport. I think my anxiety regarding TSA has been justified.
But I also have anxiety about getting my carry on in the bin, crowding any potential seatmate with my width, peeing on the plane (I will push my bladder to the limit if it means I don’t have to squeeze myself into that flying port-o-john). Actually, I think the only thing that doesn’t give me anxiety about flying is the actual flying. I like it just fine. The turbulence doesn’t even bother me (though I haven’t experienced really bad turbulence yet). I just wish I didn’t have to do it with all of those other people.
Which isn’t entirely fair because I’ve encountered many kind and helpful people on my flights, including to Charleston. One lady was kind enough to let me get my carry on ahead of her and another gentleman was kind enough to both put my carry on in the bin for me and take it out after we landed.
The trip to Charleston involved a three plus hour layover in Atlanta. But since the trip also involved me getting up at 3am to make a 6am flight, I was too tired to really enjoy it. And by enjoy it, I mean have the energy and appetite to find something more than pretzels and a Coke for brunch.
Once I got to Charleston, Mr. Larry and his taxi saw me safely to the hotel. When I got to my room, I took a moment to appreciate that I was on my own. Which is I wanted. I just didn’t realize that my exhaustion would cause a profound sense of loneliness and homesickness after only hours of being away from home. Thankfully, that passed after I got settled in and got something to eat.
I wanted this to be a trip for myself. I wanted to go to Charleston just because and I wanted to do whatever I wanted to do. I didn’t want an agenda or itinerary. I didn’t want to go souvenir hunting in an effort to bring something back for a list of people because I felt like I owed them a token of my travels. I just wanted to go and experience something new, even if that meant I spent the whole time in the hotel writing and eating room service.
Of course, I didn’t want to do that. One thing I did want to do was see the water and I discovered that the Joe Riley Waterfront Park not only provided that experience, but it also came with a bonus pineapple fountain. I have a strange affinity for pineapples. I like them more as an aesthetic than a food. I decided that the only thing I would do on this trip was eat and see the pineapple fountain.
Which doesn’t sound like a big deal until you factor in the aforementioned unmedicated anxiety. Then it can be something of a challenge. And while I did spend the night before fretting about making my pineapple dreams come true, I woke up the next morning ready to go. Once I achieved my goal of securing breakfast at a place down the street, I set about attempting to get over to the park.
I thought I was going to use the local free public transit option. However, I was thwarted by the trolley bus not showing up at the stop I was at even though the app said it would. Whatever. I’m not taking it personally. The Universe didn’t leave me hanging, though, because just down the block was a congregation of bike taxis. So, I inquired how much it would cost to get me over to the pineapple fountain. Mike informed me that it was $12 for 10 minutes, but he could give me an unofficial 30 minute tour that would take me there for $36. Hell, yeah. Let’s go, Mike.
It was a great ride. I saw the College of Charleston, some other historical buildings and houses, Rainbow Row, the Battery, all with facts and trivia, and finally, he dropped me off at Joe Riley Waterfront Park right by the pineapple fountain I sought. He also gave me a card so I could arrange for another bike taxi ride later if I wanted. Mike gave me a bonus adventure, a side quest if you will, that I didn’t even realize was possible.
Unfortunately, the temperature was in the lower 90s, putting the heat index over 100, and by the time I got to the fountain, I was already a little overheated. I ended up doing a quick picture session at the pineapple fountain followed by a walk down the pier for another few pictures before I decided I needed to get out of the heat.
I once again attempted to employ the use of public transport back to the hotel, but by the time I got back to where I thought a stop might be (I was wrong) I was so miserable I instead decided to find a place I could sit in some air conditioning and maybe grab some water and a bite to eat. I ended up at the same breakfast place I’d eaten at that morning, only on a different street. So, I got myself a crab cake sandwich that was fabulous, and both the host and the waiter were wise to my overheated condition and kept the water coming.
Once I finished my lunch, I got some water to go and called for a bike taxi back to the hotel. I didn’t get my new taxi guy’s name, but he was lovely, too. Seriously. If you’re in Charleston, get a bike taxi at least once. You won’t regret it. If you do regret it, I never said a thing.
Aside from the heat, the only other drawback to my unexpected big adventure was that I caught a little too much sun. I ended up a little bit red for my fun.
My last full day in Charleston was relaxation day. Meaning, I spent most of my time in my hotel room, lounging, writing, reading, and generally trying to prepare myself for the flight home the next day. But no worries. I still ate well. I hit up the hotel’s complimentary breakfast bar, and then ordered in from a place around the corner: chicken and waffles for lunch and a shrimp po’ boy for dinner. One last indulgence before I packed it up to head for home.
Did I still manage to have anxiety about just about everything I did on relaxation day? Yes. My anxiety has little to no chill. But it was also preparing me for the trip home. Because as we’ve seen, my flying anxiety is justified.
Despite the raging anxiety I woke up with, my travel home was pretty smooth. I was sure to give myself plenty of time to get ready and eat something and pack and drink my final cup of terrible hotel coffee (I’m sorry, but whatever kind it was they had in the room was not good) and check out before my taxi arrived so I wouldn’t feel rushed and overwhelmed. Mr. Jerome gave me a safe and quick ride to the airport where I breezed through security (I swear to the airline gods it’s only my local one that fucks with me) and even had time to purchase a souvenir for myself for the flight home. I was once again blessed with very cool and helpful fellow passengers. I hear horror stories about nightmare passengers and I am so grateful that I’ve been blessed with only the best from the very first flight I ever took. Once again, glory to the airline gods.
This is the first trip I’ve taken in a very long time (and I take my trips very far apart, so) that I came home actually feeling refreshed and in a great mood. This is the best I’ve felt in months. This trip was better for me than I could have ever hoped. It was exactly what I needed when I needed it.
I also learned something very important on this trip. If I can do a whole incredible adventure in another state, then I can do whole incredible adventures at home, too. I have proven to myself that I can do this, that anxiety doesn’t always have to get the best of me, and that I have ways of working through it.
Most importantly, I learned that I deserve to do things for myself that are just for me with no expectations or obligations to anyone else.
I deserve to have adventures of my own.
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