The Fear

While waiting for a bus to Galway Ireland today, I tried to explain the American riddle of "Why did the chicken cross the road?" to a French man. The most common answer in response to the riddle is, "to get to the other side." And that's the joke.

Now, I was explaining this joke to get my actual point and that can be described as a sign I once saw at a vintage store in Texas. You may have seen it before as well. It reads:

I want to live in a world where a chicken can cross the road and not have its motives questioned.

As many of my loyal readers know, I'm living my dream and have now found myself in Ireland with no plan and no idea of why I'm here--other than I've always wanted to come here. I've only been here a week and it feels like it's been months. I've met numerous travelers from all over the world, including the French men who walked me to the bus station (even offering to carry my own luggage). I was buying a ticket to Galway with no clear plan of where I would go from there or what I'd even do in Galway for that matter. They kept telling me I could buy a return to Dublin because it would be cheaper but I resisted. I didn't know if I'd go back to Dublin and as they realized after a couple days of knowing me, "didn't want to be chained down."

I was surprised my the surprised reactions of the European people I met when I explained my lack-of-a-plan plan. Many people have asked why I'm here and what my purpose is and now that I'm doing it, it's a lot harder to explain.

Back home, it was all I could think about, talk about, and read about. Now that it's happening, what do I do with my thoughts? What do I talk about? What do I pour myself over for thousands of hours?

Well, that's just the thing.

Mind you (or rather me), it's only been a week and who knows what will happen but I'm already kicking myself. While I've met so many wonderful and welcoming friends, I've had a couple less-than-pleasing run-ins that brought me down. And of course, being true to the Helena we all know and love, I've been in my head and allowed the negativity to overwhelm me.

I flew thousands of miles away to think, over-think, and worry. What the fuck is wrong with me?

As I walked the streets of County Galway the other day I realized that I didn't just bring things to wear, but I brought myself. Yeah people, there's a girl named Helena traveling along with me. Can you believe it? The same worried, unsure, believer of lies, and confused girl decided to come along and is working on destroying the trip.

I'm thinking about ditching her but she doesn't seem to get it.

I came here to figure things out and to take it slow--to take my time and be me and LOVE being me. Instead, I've been rushing around, drinking way too much, and living off little sleep and plenty of tea and coffee. I've gotten too drunk and gotten into situations and surrounded myself with people I flew thousands of miles to get away from.

Here I was though, being judged and corrected and instead of letting it roll off of me, letting every little thing get to me-- from dirty looks to stupid comments said by stupid boys.

You know the walk of shame? Not that I had done anything to be ashamed of I walked the streets yesterday feeling foolish and missing my friends--my people who understand and love me completely.

The story is that I had decided to prove my love of whiskey to a bunch of Irishmen probably in their 70s which resulted in drinking all the whiskey in the world. Was it fun? Absolutely! Did it attract negative attention? Absolutely. So I find myself fighting the same battles I fought back home. That of being a tough, libation drinking, out-going, and goofy woman but still maintaining a relationship with God, loving all people, and only wanting them to feel and know they're loved. Suffice it to say, this sort of kindness can be taken the wrong way, by the wrong people, and with the right amount of alcohol in their system.

On top of feeling like I may have had a cold from the "beautiful" weather, I was emotionally feeling shitty. I decided to take a day off like I had originally planned this trip to be about. But of course, I felt guilty taking time for myself.

I ended up getting a pedicure at a petite salon in the basement of the Quay. I was instantly in love with the girl who was helping me. She, like most Irish people I've met, was warm, friendly, and entirely un-judgemental. It's funny but even in Ireland I looked to my beautician like a therapist and unloaded all my thoughts.

"Oh! You got a touch of the fear!"

"The fear?"

"That's what we call it after a night of heavy drinking when you feel like you said something really stupid and you're worrying a lot--that's the fear. There are loads of people suffering from it around here."

Thank God. I'm not alone.

"Give it two days. In two days you'll be over it."

Okay I thought. I can handle two days and I like having a day to look forward to. Something about her sweet Irish accent and willingness to listen made me feel confident. She was the friendliest and least judgmental beautician I'd ever met. I thanked God for sending her presence into my life at that moment when I needed it most.

And even as I write this, I can't explain what this feeling is other than "the fear." The fear that I'm going to finish this trip with many fun and good stories to tell and still have no idea what the hell I'm going to do with my life. The fear. The fear can be summed up as all things that you've ever worried about and they all begin to surface--exposing themselves and who you truly are to the world.

The fear.

Later, I met a man named Adrien who likes to sing Elvis. I met him at a very authentic Irish pub that held only a handful of older Irish locals who told each other to "shush you fecking idiot" during the horse races. One even told me he was Bond, James Bond as he held a watch to my face. They were fun, harmless, and the most real people I seen in a while. Adrien sang me one of my favorites, "That's alright mama." I got some good advice from him as well. He said, "Who gives a feck?!" "Be you," and "If people don't like ya, feck em!"

Indeed. We're all imperfect human beings and I'm only a week in. It'll happen. It has to right?

Turns out I will be going back to Dublin to celebrate a man known as "Scottie the hottie."

What will happen from there I don't know but I'm going to do my darndest to try and expect anything.

It's true what they say, no matter how much you drink, no matter how many people you befriend, no matter how many miles you search across--you will always be there.

At the moment, "there" is Ireland and it is one of the--no, it could be argued to be the most beautiful place in the world. My sister wants me to fall in love while in Europe and I can say I have. With Ireland and her luscious rolling green hills, her warm and friendly people, and her will. I want to share her secrets with those that I love most and would have no problem with ending up here on a farm with cattle and sheep. It truly is an enchanting place and the people are amazing! And yes, they do like their libations. You've been warned.

As far as you ladies are concerned, you'll never meet more complimentary men than in Ireland. They're full of shit but a lot of fun. In fact, all the men I've met from Europe have been kind and concerned. To be honest, it's been the Canadians and Americans who I've found to be the most judgmental. Have they been fun? Sure. But still very judgmental of their own people.

And that's that. Life is life and I'm not here to think about it but try and live it. So I am. I'm taking in everything lovely and good--from cider to scenery.

Until next time, I'll leave you with the chorus of an Irish song my tour guide sang to me entitled: "Isle of Hope, Isle of Tears."

Isle of Hope, Isle of Tears,
Isle of Freedom, Isle of Fears,
But it's not the Isle you left behind,
That Isle of Hunger, Isle of Pain,
Isle you'll never see again,
But the Isle of Home is always on your mind...

The verse that rang a little closer to home...

In a little bag she carried
all her past and history,
and her dreams for the future
in the land of liberty.
And courage is the passport,
when you're old world disappears.
But there's no future in the past,
when you're fifteen years.