How to Get Good at Traveling: Layovers count towards expert hours

Some people have long legs and can reach things on tall shelves. Some people have great eyesight and don’t have to fumble around on their bedside table for their glasses every morning. Some people were born into a traveling family and have no anxiety about airports. That last one is me.

My first international flight was at age 6. It was long before September 2001 changed everything, so our extended family was at the gate to watch us board. I had a backpack as big as me with a Crayola 96 box that was my special treat (read: bribe) to be very good on a 9-hour flight. I remember being mildly nauseous on the landing, and I remember the jet lag being a beast, but from there on out, everything just clicked. I was a natural. Not that I really had a choice.

My father’s career took us across many borders, time zones, and school districts. By the time I graduated high school (in Germany), I had attended eight different schools. My college friends – by and large – walked across the stage with kids they had known since diapers, had maybe traveled out of the country for a mission trip or a cruise, and were the biggest bundles of nerves any time we set foot in an airport. “Can I bring my shampoo? Do I have to take my socks off, too? Is that our plane leaving now??” I remember my exasperation with a large group of school friends I was flying with on a spring break trip my freshman year at the University of Georgia.

My goal while in an airport is to exude calmness and glide from one phase of security to the next, to arrive at the gate early but not too early, to stay hydrated, and to sit back and watch people from all over the world pass each other like ships in the night. And to never, ever run. Worry and rush, to me, is a sign that you did not adequately prepare.

I’m currently in the planning phase of a trip that I’ll be taking later in the year. The planning, packing lists, itineraries, and research part of the preparation might be my favorite part. To wit: the trip is in November and I already have 4 spreadsheets going for it.

But of course, comparison is always there. I follow fellow travelers, writers, photographers, and bloggers who produce content that always looks streamlined and well-put-together. My partner is a touring musician and adventure athlete who specializes in ultralight travel. And as I’m creating a Google Map to route me from one natural wonder to the next while maximizing subarctic winter sunlight, that terrible little voice pops up in my head: who do you think you are? What if this all goes horribly wrong? You don’t know what you’re doing.

When it comes to the creative aspects of my life, that little voice can be incapacitating. I’ve never taken a formal art history class, so who am I to call what I do art? I haven’t taken a creative writing class in almost 20 years, so who am I to put my words out there? I have so many friends who are photographers, printmakers, and working artists of all stripes, so who am I to even pretend? It can get me in a dark spiral.

But when it comes to questioning my travels, I can shut that voice up pretty quick. Nope, I’ve got this. Check my passport – I’ve been around the world all by myself. Check my closet – my entire wardrobe is travel-ready blacks and neutrals. Check my luggage? Nah, I can live out of a carry-on for a month.

I’m good at this because I’ve put in my expert hours through layovers around the world. Sure, TSA still occasionally stops me for having book-sized rocks from Death Valley in my bag (true story). And I still drape myself in safe-travel talismans that I fidget with during every takeoff. And I still get travel-belly like everyone else. It is nevertheless exhilarating, and the adrenaline rush of new places is the reason I put in the work at home. But planning a three-country, ten-day solo trip on a budget, and pulling it off in style? Oh hell yeah. No big deal.