Since it is midnight, since I leave home in two weeks and feel overwhelmed and excited and strange, what I want to write about is expected change. Like when you decide to move, or apply for school, put in your two weeks notice, or buy a plane ticket. By 'expected change' I mean the kind of shift we willingly induce, weighing the consequences and counting the days. When we commit to our plans the deep-down self changes: the letter has been sent; the paper received; the receipt sits in one's inbox; the empty boxes loom and shadow the morning, "Fill me!" they call.
Those who enjoy cliché would agree: the deed has been done.
When I bought my plane ticket, here's what happened: "Oooh my goose down comforter! oh my hot shower! my stable income! my friends, family, love! what the hell am I doing leaving all of this?" and then "what am I going to do out there?". Why do I go? Because on the road hot showers, if I'm lucky to find them, feel better than they ever do at home. And because I can tell the right decision by those monarchs in my belly, that sudden feeling that I can see through the walls, the trees, the mountains to the rest of the great big world. Finitude forces me to appreciate the blessings I've got, love them, and let go. There's life beyond this.
I have stuffed cardboard boxes with my earthly belongings, and moved and moved and moved. As I prepare for this familiar activity, I note that I've spent far more energy on the immaterial aspects of departure than the physical. Bidding goodbye is no easy task. Making sure I'm equipped with what I need has been the focus of 2013: wisdom teeth out, Russian and Turkish language classes taken, digital camera bought, Permaculture course down, blog started, First Aid class, round 3 oral Typhoid vaccination tomorrow, a full bank account after working my arse off... Yes. And there's so much left to do!
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