The both of me, together at last.
I am two people. Or maybe three. Or maybe a hundred?
A couple of weeks ago, I travelled back to Graz from visiting my family in Ireland. Every journey I embark on, short or long, I imagine myself showing up like so:
I calmly swan into the airport looking well-rested, with hair and makeup done. I have an elegant coat on and heeled boots, with one of those eency-weency suitcases that fits nothing more than a jumper and a toothbrush. In my neat designer handbag I have a book to read, my phone and my passport, basta così.
This woman embodies all that I dream of; she’s hugely successful, she always gets up early, never misses a day of yoga or eats unhealthy food, she only leaves the house with a decent outfit on, she makes everyone in the room laugh and feel seen, so people gravitate to her or want to be more like her. Even I want to be more like her.
When we meet for the first time, I’ll probably show you this version of myself. This isn’t conscious, it’s what every human tries to do when they meet new people - hide their vulnerabilities, impress, and convince themselves in the process that this is who they truly are, so that they can feel better about themselves.
But the truth is, we only actually warm to each other when that shield comes down and we can relate on a gritty, human level.
Don’t get me wrong, I manage to embody aspects of her on different days, but I’m not the whole package (that would be exhausting — just writing about her made me yawn).
But back to my journey. Given that I’ve travelled around the world and moved countries a fair few times, you’d think that I’d have the solo-travelling thing down; that I’d know how to pack light or remember to bring decent snacks, but no, not so.
With every trip, I promise myself that I’ll show up as Better Tamzin, but as I near my departure I look over my shoulder and there she is, sweating and trying to catch up: Worse Tamzin.
She, on the other hand, rolls into the airport after a Bad Start at midnight — why do I always seem to have flights at 6am that leave from airports about a four-hour bus-ride from where I’m staying? Why don’t I have a chauffeur? What failures in life have led me to this bus-taking-necessity?