We are packing for a big trip and I am feeling some angst about the whole thing.

I’m not a good traveler. I don’t like doing new things or meeting new people, and I definitely don’t enjoy the uncertainties inherent in the act of traveling.

I like to be home. Home is reliable. Home is comfortable and safe.

It occurred to me recently that this desire to be home may be the root of my impatience. Maybe I hate waiting in line at Starbucks because it just prevents me from getting home sooner. The slow cashier at the grocery store is cruelly delaying my reunion with my cats and my piano. The waitress who takes forever to get us our check is diminishing my evening reading time.

I begin anticipating my return to my house pretty much as soon as I depart, and I’m starting to think this is maybe less cute quirk and more… clinical diagnosis?

I also had an insight recently about my travel style and how it differs from my husband’s travel style.

When I am flying I want to get to the airport as early as possible. I plan my airport arrival time based on the assumption that things are going to go horribly wrong. The Uber driver won’t show up. Construction will prevent us from taking the shortest route to the airport. The bag drop line will be a mile long. The precheck line at security will be two miles long. This is why we aim to get there two hours early!

My husband plans his travel based on the assumption that everything will go smoothly. The Uber driver will zoom down the highway at record (but safe!) speed. Bag check will take five minutes, security will take three. With this sort of math we really only have to arrive at the airport maybe forty-five minutes before our flight departs.

So here we are, a pessimist and an optimist trying to travel together with two kids. And what if we have to get Starbucks?!