Over-planning. It's a blessing and a curse.
We leave two weeks from today to travel through the UK, Belgium, Germany, the Czech Republic, France, and Ireland. I've never left the country before. At 42 years old, I've never even been to Mexico. So instead of just taking a quick weekend south of the border as my virgin journey stamp on my passport I got a wild hair when my daughter mentioned studying overseas for the summer. Now, six months later, it's nearly time to go.
It started with a plan for a week long trip to fly to Ireland to celebrate our fifth anniversary and the daughter would fly on to Prague to meet her school. But then, we'd miss London. So the trip changed into a plan to go to London and then drop her off in Prague. Well, Berlin is in between those two places and my childhood pen pal lives in Berlin, so the trip grew to 10 days. London, Berlin, Prague. Ireland could wait, right? But wait, in between London and Berlin is the cemetery where my grandmother's cousin is buried-his death plays a pivotal role in the book I'm writing-so we can't miss that spot. It got added, and the trip grew to two weeks.
Then there was the letter from my grandmother's collection from a soldier that helped liberate Dachau; the soldier that recuperated from that horror in Paris; the soldier that came to Europe via Normandy. Those needed to be added - and the trip grew to three weeks.
And finally, my soul shouted, "I really want to go to Ireland!" I listened and the trip is now nearly four weeks long and will culminate with a week on the Emerald Isle.
This is an adventure of a lifetime. I am incredibly grateful to a career that allows me the financial ability to plan this trip, a team that allows me the time to go on the trip, my clients that are so understanding, and my spouse's boss for giving him the time off. But, sadly, I've realized that I'm probably even more grateful for my Google spreadsheet that's helping plan everything.
That's when I discovered that I have a problem. I'm an over-planner. The idea of backpacking across Europe with no specific plan, while romantic, gives me hives.
As someone who has been in recovery for the past 18 months, I attend a couple of meetings every week where I'm reminded that I need to be granted serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
I can't change that the French rail workers are striking, I can't control the weather, I can't guarantee that the trains/planes/ferries will run on time, I can't guarantee my giant husband will fit in tiny European rental cars. I can't do a lot of things.
I can only change how I react to the unknown. And so, there are a lot of blanks on my spreadsheet.
I've planned the circle that we're going to travel and know where we're supposed to stay. I've booked only five things - a show at The Globe theater, two days with my pen pal in Berlin, a Parisian Bike ride for Pete so I can have some solitary writing time in Paris, a guided tour of Normandy beaches, and a half-marathon in Ireland as my anniversary gift for Pete to run. Outside of that, we have twenty-eight rather fluid days in Europe.
Now, to fill the fourteen days before we leave with something to distract me from the anticipation.
It started with a plan for a week long trip to fly to Ireland to celebrate our fifth anniversary and the daughter would fly on to Prague to meet her school. But then, we'd miss London. So the trip changed into a plan to go to London and then drop her off in Prague. Well, Berlin is in between those two places and my childhood pen pal lives in Berlin, so the trip grew to 10 days. London, Berlin, Prague. Ireland could wait, right? But wait, in between London and Berlin is the cemetery where my grandmother's cousin is buried-his death plays a pivotal role in the book I'm writing-so we can't miss that spot. It got added, and the trip grew to two weeks.
Then there was the letter from my grandmother's collection from a soldier that helped liberate Dachau; the soldier that recuperated from that horror in Paris; the soldier that came to Europe via Normandy. Those needed to be added - and the trip grew to three weeks.
And finally, my soul shouted, "I really want to go to Ireland!" I listened and the trip is now nearly four weeks long and will culminate with a week on the Emerald Isle.
That's when I discovered that I have a problem. I'm an over-planner. The idea of backpacking across Europe with no specific plan, while romantic, gives me hives.
As someone who has been in recovery for the past 18 months, I attend a couple of meetings every week where I'm reminded that I need to be granted serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
I can't change that the French rail workers are striking, I can't control the weather, I can't guarantee that the trains/planes/ferries will run on time, I can't guarantee my giant husband will fit in tiny European rental cars. I can't do a lot of things.
I can only change how I react to the unknown. And so, there are a lot of blanks on my spreadsheet.
I've planned the circle that we're going to travel and know where we're supposed to stay. I've booked only five things - a show at The Globe theater, two days with my pen pal in Berlin, a Parisian Bike ride for Pete so I can have some solitary writing time in Paris, a guided tour of Normandy beaches, and a half-marathon in Ireland as my anniversary gift for Pete to run. Outside of that, we have twenty-eight rather fluid days in Europe.
Now, to fill the fourteen days before we leave with something to distract me from the anticipation.
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