The Reassurance of the Unknown

"For my part, I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream."
— Vincent van Gogh

The unknowns were adding up.

Not just a few.

A lot.

More than my brain could comfortably process.

Not because I didn't have a vision for the trip.

I had the destinations.

I had the route.

I had the experiences we were hoping to find.

But the more possibilities opened up, the more opportunities for serendipity appeared.

And that was where the old fear started creeping back in.

The unknown.

For most of my life, uncertainty carried a strange weight.

My plans weren't complete!

What happens when we get there?

What if the plane is late?

What if the park is closed?

What if it rains everywhere we go?

What do I pack?

How long will I be driving?

What am I forgetting?

These questions are where Someday likes you to wait.

Right there.

In the space between wanting something and actually doing it.

Because this is where the bandage goes on.

A little reassurance.

A little delay.

A little more time to prepare.

It feels responsible.

It feels practical.

It feels like you're protecting yourself from uncertainty.

But sometimes the bandage doesn't heal anything.

Sometimes it just covers up the thought where the journey was supposed to begin.

The strange thing was, I had already done the work.

I had researched.

I had planned.

I had built confidence.

I had answered hundreds of questions.

And somehow, more questions still remained.

That was the part I had always struggled with.

Not the planning.

Not the dreaming.

The moment where the planning ends and the living begins.

That moment where you have done enough research, built enough confidence, and yet the unknown whispers:

"Maybe wait a little longer."

But Someday wasn't going to win.

Waiting meant another failure.

And this experiment needed to be complete before I wrote it off.

I started a packing list.

Well, no...

We planned clothing.

Me.

The AI.

And my son.

Oddly enough, this also gave me an opportunity to learn communication with my kid.

Not that we didn't talk.

We did.

Just not about clothes.

Or packing.

Or airline travel.

Those conversations weren't exactly part of our normal routine.

But suddenly, preparing for this adventure created a different kind of conversation.

A practical one.

A shared one.

And then there was me.

A minimalist believer when it came to packing.

A week-long vacation?

Three pairs of shorts or pants.

A few T-shirts.

Stuff it all into a backpack.

Done.

But this wasn't a week-long vacation.

This was two weeks.

Two weeks with multiple stops.

Multiple climates.

Possible changes of clothes.

Jackets.

Hiking.

Cities.

Airports.

Everything that turns a simple packing list into a complicated problem.

But my itinerary was loosely tight.

There was enough structure to get us where we needed to go, but enough flexibility to allow the experience to happen.

Waiting for baggage after each plane wasn't just an inconvenience.

It was precious time.

Time taken away from the next leg.

The next destination.

The next experience.

Everything needed to be in a carry-on bag.

So I consulted the unrealistic, all-knowing AI and made a few purchases.

Some good.

Some...

not so good.

Eventually, I settled on a system that worked for both of our bags.

I packed.

I checked.

I packed again.

I repacked.

Then I waited.

The night before, anxiety tried knocking.

But I wasn't answering.

I was on a mission.

No.

Not a mission.

I was on an epic adventure.