I’d like to stress that packing up my life and heading out towards an unknown reality, for an undecided amount of time, can be a stressful thing.

But what is stress, actually? Apparently it’s a simple question but the answer is probably a combination of physiological facts, like perspiration and an accelerated heart beat, thoughts like “Am I going to be OK?” and a psychological mechanism that makes it worth our while to freak out.

I’d like to focus on the psychological aspect – what AM I actually gaining out of my current state of stress? I’d like to argue that there isn’t actually anything to be scared or worried about, concerning my great leap forward to NY, which is days away. The simple reason is that the act itself is something so big, that there is absolutely no way for me to grasp it. Have I ever moved to another country before? NO. Have I ever quit my jobs and invested my savings in a dream? NO. It actually makes perfect sense that my overwhelmed mind doesn’t have any capability of grasping or envisioning what lies ahead.

I think that my stress is here to stress that I have no actual capability of dealing with what I’m going through. In other words, stress is one way in which my body and mind can reflect on how big a thing it is that I’m prepared to do. I know that people around me worry, or think I’m brave or crazy for doing this. However, I think it simply is what it is, and that the stress is my attempt to give form and color to an abstract train of thought.

The tectonic plates of the earth are constantly on the move, but every once in a while a more fundamental movement occurs, causing earthquakes around the world. These earthquakes are not something you can really prepare for, but rather act upon and not freeze once they have happened. Though a thousand times different, I have a date and time for my life’s tectonic movement, and plenty of time to prepare in advance.

Still, the stress isn’t easy to shake off. What’s left for me to do is to keep breathing, and constantly look towards the edge of the cliff I’m headed towards, prepared to jump. For some birds, the first attempt to fly starts by taking a fall from a high altitude, forcing them to bat their wings like their lives depend on it, only to learn that flying actually comes pretty naturally to them.