how about I just never go more than 50 miles away from home?

ugh, that sounds miserable, too.

I mean really. Look at ALL THESE TIMES I've travelled. Often ALL BY MYSELF. And time and again IT'S ALL FINE. Successful travel, over and over again. So why does making plans turn me into an anxious mess for days?

When I was 20 I made a last-minute trip to New York for the Stonewall 25th anniversary celebration. I went with only the rumor of a place I might stay. I maxed out my credit card for the plane ticket. My ATM card turned out to not work on the east coast. I turned up on the doorstep of the organizing committee with my bag and no plan, and volunteered my help in return for the crash space I'd heard about on usenet.

Everything went just fine.

Where did that brave girl go?