I barely remember my first day in Argentina. I remember hugging my friend who met me in the lobby of her apartment building in funky pajamas; I remember flopping onto a blow-up mattress in exhaustion; I remember waking up to grey skies and a bleak cityscape. I didn't feel inspired. I felt uncomfortable and slightly disappointed. My anxiety was at a high. I'm a cranky traveler. Whenever I finish a long trip, the last thing I want to do is *appreciate* everything around me. I j

"This is a mistake. I'm making a mistake." These were my first thoughts as I woke up the morning I left for Argentina. Not exactly the conventional giddiness one usually gets the day they're set to go on a trip somewhere, but I've never been a totally normal person. I remember the pit in the my stomach as I woke up March 20th. I had barely slept the night before, tossing and turning, my mind racing about all the ways this could go horribly wrong. That's anxiety for you. It's