For years, I dreaded going to immigration.
Not because anything terrible happened there. It was simply exhausting. Long lines. Crowded waiting rooms. Bright lights. Uncertainty. The feeling that if I missed something or misunderstood an instruction, I might have to start all over again.
I went because I had to, and every time I felt relieved when it was over.
A few months ago, I noticed something. The building hadn’t changed. The lines were still long. The waiting room was still crowded. The paperwork was still confusing.
But I wasn’t having quite the same experience.
I still preferred to leave, and I was still tired afterward. But I wasn’t carrying the same sense of threat through the entire visit. I wasn’t watching everything quite so closely or bracing for every interaction. I wasn’t trying so hard to get through it.
It was just another part of the day.
Since then, I’ve started noticing the same thing elsewhere. Busy supermarkets. Airports. Traffic. Waiting. None of them have become my favorite places. They simply don’t seem to demand quite so much from me anymore.
For a long time, I assumed the world was making me feel this way.
Now I’m no longer so sure.