🛫 The Airport Anxiety Diaries

There’s something about airports that turns even the most confident traveler into a bundle of nerves — and I am Exhibit A. No matter how many times I fly, I can never shake off the uneasiness that creeps in the night before a flight. What if I forget my ID? What if my luggage is overweight? What if I get stuck in security and miss my gate call? Welcome to The Airport Anxiety Diaries — where logic is missing and overthinking has priority boarding.

It usually begins the evening before. I lay out my clothes, double-check my flight timings, and yet still set five alarms for the next morning. Because, of course, if I wake up even 5 minutes late, I will somehow miss everything, right? The hours before the flight feel like an exam I didn’t study for — even though all I have to do is show up with my passport.

Packing is another chaos saga. I start strong with a list — clothes, chargers, toiletries — but soon spiral into packing random things like a sewing kit (I don’t sew) and three pens (why?). I weigh my suitcase multiple times, convinced that one extra pair of socks will push it over the baggage limit. And then the real nightmare begins — the drive to the airport.

I’ve reached the airport three hours early and I’m still panicking. I keep touching my pockets to check if my ID and boarding pass are still there. (Spoiler: They are.) I stand in line at the check-in counter rehearsing what I’ll say as if it’s an interview. “Yes, window seat, please.” But the words still come out awkwardly.

Security is the final boss level. Why is it always the most stressful? I start sweating like I’m smuggling something (I’m not). My laptop is out, shoes are off, and I’m somehow juggling three trays and a boarding pass with the grace of a baby deer on ice.

Once I finally make it through, I sit at the gate, exhausted — but oddly proud. I sip overpriced airport coffee like it’s a reward for surviving the madness. I even browse the duty-free section I never buy anything from. The panic starts to fade, replaced by that quiet excitement — the trip is really happening. The worst is over. Or so I think... until I start wondering if I locked the front door at home.

Here’s what I’ve learned: airport anxiety doesn’t mean I hate flying. It just means I care too much about getting things right. With every trip, I try to laugh at the chaos a little more. I remind myself that missing a flight isn’t the end of the world, and most mistakes are fixable.

But until that zen-like confidence kicks in, I’ll continue over packing protein bars and refreshing my flight status like it’s a live cricket score. Because this? This is just another day in the Airport Anxiety Diaries.


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