A few months ago I listed some ideas for My Next Trip. And I sit back and wonder why I still haven’t taken it.

Obvious answer: Exhaustion.

I don’t have (m)any pics of me looking exhausted, so the Cat is standing in for me here.

I knew I was worn out last summer when I moved back to PA, but I had no idea just how dead I was until I recovered, which honestly has happened only in the past month or so. I’ve been going to church again lately, without the fear of having to talk to people and explain to them how I’ve been or what I’m up to (not so good, and not so much). I’ve been trying to paint again, with less success than I might like, but at least I’m not afraid of trying anymore. I actually have the strength to eat right again (first time in four years) so I’m no longer terrified of developing diabetes or heart disease.

My new visual arts station. Notice the complete lack of paint on the canvas. And the jug of water because my new office/artist loft/creative space has no running water in it.

Let’s read that last paragraph. Fear, afraid, terrified. And that’s the less obvious answer: I’ve been afraid.

I have never failed at anything involving travel or writing or art or creativity. And yet it’s the artist in me that doubts myself time and again. What if this is the time I fall on my face? What if this is the time I get stuck in Budapest without a way home? What if this is the time I get writer’s block that never goes away? What if this is the time I pay for travel and can’t pay it back?

Repeat after me: Face Your Fear and GO.

Readers, I expect you to hold me to this. I’m gonna go somewhere in the next few months. I think I know where, but I’m not going to say just yet. It’ll take some financial juggling, some timing, some risks, but it’s going to happen.

As a wise woman said to me just today, “You’ve wanted to do this for over a decade. It’s not going anywhere.”

And that’s exactly why I’m going somewhere. One exhilarating risk at a time.