You're Money, Baby

I'm writing this post from my hotel room in London. I'm kind of numb. None of this feels real.  I think the choice I've made will sink in about 4 days from now when I move into my temporary apartment, and THEN I'll have a meltdown.  We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. 

As if San Francisco could have put on a more dramatic display for my departure. 

Monday and Tuesday were my big travel days. I thought I would cry when my parents dropped me off at the airport, but I didn't... probably due to the aforementioned numbness. It's like I blacked out. I barely remember saying goodbye. (As it turns out, I had saved my tears and emotions for takeoff. I softly sobbed on the plane during the safety presentation to ensure those around me were extremely uncomfortable.) 

Security, which is usually completely uneventful, ended up being kind of awful. I had been talking to this Mumford & Sons-looking guy about how I tuck my jeans into my socks to keep them from riding out of my boots (he seemed pretty into it), but when it came time for him to go through the metal detector (or whatever it is) he pitched a fit about taking off his shoes and he was taken down by TSA. I still feel a little bit odd about having an attraction to a could-be terrorist.  I saw him later in the United Club and I think he was on my flight, but we didn't speak. We mutually understood that there was no coming back from what had happened.

When we began our descent into London, I was NOT doing well. The flight attendant announced over the intercom that Big Ben and the River Thames could be seen on the right-hand side of the plane, and it was kind of a "what the f*** have I done" moment. I literally (and I apologize for the overshare) choked back a little bit of puke. I had such a visceral reaction. I broke out in a cold sweat, saturating the wool sweater I was wearing, and then I consequently became super pissed about forgetting to pack my tiny bottle of Febreze. 

This was the view that made me throw up in my mouth. It's actually gorgeous. 

I didn't feel any better when I got off the plane. When I was at SFO, I had been so excited to see what the United Club was like (I'd never been before, it was just okay) that I forgot to get cash out. So when I landed I had no money, my ATM card wasn't working, my phone was out of commission, and I was overheating under my many layers of clothing. I had thought that wearing my vintage camel coat with the fox fur collar would make me feel glamorous yet cozy, but really it just made me feel sweaty. I was in HORRIBLE shape and not at all emotionally prepared to face the task at hand... the task being getting money and taking a taxi. (Super daunting, no?) I needed some encouragement. 

Snowballing off of that...

In the interest of being totally myself, I should tell you that when I'm upset and alone, and I need to calm down or be given a pep talk, I say things to myself that I would NEVER say to another person. This isn't something I've always done; it's something I recently discovered. 

When I was solo in Australia last November, I had a small panic attack. I was taking deep breaths and trying to talk myself down, and what I meant to tell myself was "you're okay. You got this." But those aren't the words that came out. What I actually said was, "You're money, baby... You're so money and you don't even know it." This was very odd to me. I think I've seen Swingers once. I'm not 100% sure how I even retained that sound bite, but that's what I said. I became the Vince Vaughn to my Jon Favreau, and IT F***IN WORKED. I thought "YEAH... I am money." 

I've realized that's what it takes for me to bring myself back down to earth.  Telling myself "you're okay. You got this," might slow my heart rate down for a few minutes, but that's only because I know that's what it's supposed to do. It's like a placebo effect. After 5 minutes, I'll be back to rattling off worst-case scenarios in my mind, with my heart in my stomach, wondering if I'll ultimately be sold into the sex trade. Telling myself I'm "okay" is white noise, it doesn't register. It doesn't mean anything. Unfortunately, I'm not great at being my own champion... at least not yet. I have to channel someone else; a stronger voice has to come through to ensure that I feel less scared and less alone. I'm as shocked as you are that the voice belongs to Trent from Swingers, but what can ya do. He seems truly excited about what I have to offer. 

That said, I took some deep breaths, told myself I was "SO money," placed a collect call to Wells Fargo, and I was able to get my ATM card working. (Mind you, I did set a travel alert. The dysfunctional card is TOTALLY not on me.) After an hour and a half at Heathrow Airport, I was finally able to take the 60 minute cab ride to my hotel. (Tackling the tube is for another time, I have to walk before I can run.)

I'm hoping that this trip makes being my own champion more instinctual. This is so new, and it's so unfamiliar, and underneath that thin veil of numbness is fear. I'm not worried that something horrible will happen to me. I'm worried that I will let that fear get the best of me. I'm worried I was wrong and that I won't be able to do this. So if what I need right now is to speak to myself with the conviction of a young Vince Vaughn, that's what I'm going to do.