I’ve just spent the weekend relaxing in New York with my family. Sunday has rolled around all too soon, meaning that it’s time to take the train back to campus. I wake up that morning with a knot in my stomach – not because I’m sad to be leaving my mom, or stressed about the week of homework ahead (although both statements are true), but because I know it’s time to face the Penn Station Scramble.
I arrive at Penn Station 30 minutes before my train is due to depart. I descend on the escalator into hell with my wheely bag in tow, preparing my game face. My armpits begin to sweat in anticipation. Due to my early-ish arrival, I have exactly enough time to purchase a Dunkin Donuts ice coffee and prowl around the departure board, calculating the most tactful positioning. I scoff at the travelers posted up in the seating area. Amateurs.
I finally locate some prime real estate – close to the board, and as centered as possible without blocking the escalator – and take a seat on my wheely bag. I scope out the competition and look at the clock. Roughly ten minutes until my track will be announced. I make guesses as to which one it will be – 10 East? 12 West? Please don’t let it be 7 East.
Five minutes. More people begin to crowd around the board, and my stomach churns every time the massive machine updates itself, flapping as wildly as my heart inside of my chest. I position my purse across my body, raise the handle of my bag, and clutch my phone so tightly in my hand I think it might bend. (Too soon, iPhone 6 users?)
Three minutes. I break out in rage-sweats.
The track is announced after what seems like eternity, and, blinded by anxiety, it takes me a minute to orient myself. As soon as I have, I run towards 10 West like a mad woman, dragging my bag over people’s feet in the process. I slide into the left side of the slightly-formed line, glaring at those who silently accuse me of cutting in front of them, and scowling at those who try to do the same to me. I square my shoulders as if preparing for battle (which I sort of am). The brisk walk down the escalator and onto the train is a blur.
The sweats and beating heart don’t subside until I’m in my seat, bag above my head, jacket off, and headphones in. The Penn Station Scramble has taken yet another two years off of my life.
Unfortunately, this sort of travel anxiety isn’t limited to the train variety. My teeth clench at the thought of going through airport security, even though I have TSA Pre-Check and always arrive 2 hours before my flight. As soon as I know that I have to travel over 30 minutes via public transportation, I go into survival mode. And while I’m a somewhat anxious person in general, I think this type of travel anxiety effects all people, to some extent. When’s the last time you showed up to Penn Station and just la-di-da’d your way over to the track five minutes after they’ve announced it?
I clearly am no expert on how to conquer this anxiety once and for all, but here are some tips that would probably subdue the rage-sweats:
- Make a mental or physical list of all the reasons behind your stress.
- Take an objective look at said list: realize how trivial all of your worries are.
- Arrive at the train station/airport/bus station inordinately early. A prepared traveler is a sedated traveler.
- Take deep breaths. This does not mean hyperventilate.
See long line.Forget previous tips.Cry.
Safe travels, and may the odds be ever in your favor!
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