I’m leaving for the Netherlands in about a month. I’ve already started packing. I recognize I will never have enough time all at once to pack as I’d like to. Instead, a few minutes here, 20 minutes there, is what is going to leave me feeling relaxed and ready the afternoon I hop onto my train headed to New York and the airport.

I’m packing a carry-on for the trip. The cost of checking a bag was obscene, and I like a challenge. Now I have two challenges: what to bring, and how to fit it all in my hiking backpack.

After doing a little internet research about what Europeans wear, one article advised not to bring a backpack. I am traveling alone and will be doing a lot of walking. I’m not doing it with a dinky wheeled suitcase, and I have a really nice hiking backpack from my 2014 Mt. Hood Trip. The backpack is German-made, so that has to count for something, right?

I haven’t been to Europe since I went on a missions/sightseeing trip to Austria, Hungary, and Romania between my sophomore and junior years in college. The trip was amazing, but, as one young man who came with us said with annoyance, “This is a missions trip! Not a musical.” And indeed, the group would burst into song at any time, on public transit, or just walking along the street.

It was SO embarrassing (coincidentally, the night I wrote this, Two asked, “Mom, when was the last time you were humiliated?” Truth: I thought of it right away. The night on the bike trail. But I didn’t want to have to tell the story and explain shame and parenting to an eleven-year-old, so I mumbled something and walked into the other room. She didn’t pursue it. Parenting win? Urgh.)

On that trip to Europe, I was soaking up the architecture, language, and culture, and my friends and co-travelers were outing us as Americans at every opportunity (I’m sure I wasn’t the only one soaking things up, and I know this recollection makes me sound like a snob). There were few moments when I could just be anonymous and invisible and just ENJOY myself. (With a large family, my desire to become invisible occasionally has probably gotten stronger with time).

Towards the end of our trip, we arrived in Vienna. Somehow, I managed to extricate myself from the group and found myself sitting outside of St. Stephen’s Cathedral, alone. A guy (who later introduced himself as Valentine) walked up and asked me why I was wearing flip flops. I told him I gave my shoes away in Romania, and he asked if he could take me out for coffee.

This was before cell phones. I sat at a coffee shop and enjoyed a warm beverage with a stranger, who turned out to be an international student from Africa, before heading back to find my group. The leader of the group had been a bit panicked in my absence, which I feel bad about, but that afternoon was one of the best parts of the trip for me.

No people I knew, no expectations, just wandering and experiencing the city.

This time, I’ll be on my own for the first time ever on foreign soil. And I’m not super keen on sticking out like a sore thumb. I won’t be with anyone, speaking in American accents as we walk along. Sure, I’ll have a camera, and my backpack. But once I stash those, I’ll (hopefully?) just be another person on the street.

I can’t wait. I can’t remember the last time I could just explore somewhere new without worrying about anyone else.

But now, how much do I want or need to fit in?

I already wear chinos and a lot of black. I have the most fantastic pair of leather shoes ever. Yet I still found myself looking online for the “perfect” pair of pants for the plane ride over that would be comfortable but still transition to sightseeing the next morning, after my red-eye but before I can check into my Airbnb digs. Because, you see, according to the article, Europeans also don’t wear sweats in public.

I don’t wear sweats in public much, either, but I’m going to be on a plane all night, so those pants that claim to feel like pajamas but look like dress pants are sounding pretty appealing right about now. If not those, then some other very, very forgiving piece of clothing is going to be covering my bottom half.

I’m not quite as worked up as I was about the party (which was wonderful), but I’m also being watchful towards my little anxiety animal, who would love to use an opportunity like this to send me into a tailspin.

Have you flown recently? Have any tips for red-eye travel? I’ve done it several times, but it has always been really, really terrible, even with a neck pillow, ear plugs, Dramamine, and an eye mask. (I love traveling. I don’t love flying.) Have you ever traveled anywhere new? Driven really far? How hard do you try to blend in when you have a chance? Do you just own your status as an American when you’re abroad? Or only admit it when you have to?