As this trip draws closer I’ve begun to encounter (with increasing fervor) a familiar comment from most everyone I run into.  It goes something like this: “You must be getting SO excited for your trip!?!”

I know it’s harmless – it truly is, but with each rendition my anxiety has risen another octave.  Because the answer is actually no.  No, I’m not ‘so excited’ for my trip.

I’m far too busy feeling terrified.

This is not a floppy-hat and swimsuit kind of vacation. Those I’m good at. Those I don’t fear.  This is something decidedly different.  It is, as my wise friend Ben put it the other night: as if I’m moving away.  Sure, not forever.  I’ll be back.  San Francisco is home (unless I find someplace better out there – and I’d be hard-pressed to do so), but he has a point.  This is a long-term situation, even if one day I’ll look back on it with a ‘where did the time go?’ look on my face.

To prepare myself for this adventure, I’ll admit: I’ve talked it down a bit.  My friends think of world-travel and they think of weeks without work, days spent on beaches in Thailand, or touring Italian ruins.  I; however, think of all of the things that I’m afraid to (but most certainly will) encounter on this trip.  And so, in no particular order, in their infinite glory, here are my fears:

Food poisoning.  I may as well start with the most obvious (and likely).
Heat + Humidity.  I’m not actually as afraid of this as I probably should be.
Tsunamis. Yes, I unfortunately saw that Naomi Watts film.  Yes, I also know that a tsunami is possible in California.
Hotel bedspreads. I don’t think I’m alone in my preference for a white duvet cover. I also don’t think those exist in most of the places we’ll be visiting.
Getting my laptop stolen in between back-ups.
Crowded, smelly buses. I am a regular rider of San Francisco’s 45 and 30 lines, but something tells me they have done little to prepare me for what’s in store.
Dengue Fever.
Language barriers – particularly when it comes to ordering food at restaurants.  I’m a question-asker. I like to understand what I’m about to eat.
Heartbreaking poverty.  I’ve heard the stories – one-armed kids in India begging for a coin.  How will I say no to that?  Not just once, but over and over and over again?
Unfamiliar insects.
Flying in anything smaller than a Boeing 737.

And then will be the general lack of so many things I love:

Routine.
A reliable wifi connection.
Independence.  I get it – in some places I, as a woman, will need to be glued to David’s hip.
Long runs in cool temps beside San Francisco’s Bay.
Dear friends and their conversation.
A wardrobe that extends beyond 6 items.
Napa Cab.
Fresh Farmer’s Market Produce.
Hetch Hetchy water from the tap.
Blue Bottle Coffee.
The sound of the Foghorns at night.
The Fort Mason Farmer’s Market on Sundays.
My bed.
Thanksgiving.
College Football (Not really the games, I don’t particularly care about those – but I like the sound of them in the background of my Saturday).
San Francisco’s Summer
Ski season.

…And another few dozen other things that haven’t yet occurred to me.

Perhaps I’m being melodramatic – it wouldn’t be out of character.  But the way I see it, I’d rather trade premature excitement for a future state of pleasant surprise.  Not so secretly: I’m optimistic this will be the case.