I suppose I should write something here.
It's right there on my list: "Farewell Blog Post". And I did complete every other thing that needed to get done on that list. Really, for the sake of parity, if nothing else, I should write something. Don't I have something pithy and frank and gently self-deprecating to share with you all?
Tomorrow I fly. And you know what the truly amazing, even ironic, thing is about that statement? It's kind of just started to seem like just another day.
In the spirit of honesty, I will completely allow that this blase attitude is quite possibly nothing more than self-preservation, as I have certainly been on the edge of tears and/or barfing more than once over the past week. But what makes me smile is that I know this newest adventure would not have been possible for me two years ago. I would have been too afraid. There is a whole bunch of stuff about this current assignment that I still have not the foggiest clue about, and two years ago, back when I was just screw up the courage to email Georgia and ask for a second chance, I'm pretty sure that facing this level of "I have no idea what is going to fucking happen" would have been too much, even with the incentive of mooning Ursula on my way out.
Georgia taught me stuff. About myself, and about life. About how your life doesn't need to become a copy of the lives you see all around you. My experiences in Georgia, and the people I met there, inspired me to backpack around Europe, which is something I never in a million years thought I'd be able to do. In Europe, I learned about winging it, making the best of it, and most importantly, just kind of having the balls to Show Up.
If I hadn't had my terrible job in DC, I never would have had the courage to go to Georgia. If not for Georgia, I would not have made the decision to go backpacking. And if I hadn't backpacked, it is very likely that I would not now be doing this.
Life just plain blows my mind sometimes.
For most of my life, it typically hasn't been in my nature to Show Up. I like lists. Planning. I like to know exactly what is going to happen and I like to have had a significant role in figuring out what those activities will entail. Tomorrow, I will once more hug my parents at Dulles and step on to a plane into the unknown. It is only the slightest of exaggerations to say that I have not the slightest fucking idea what is going to happen after that. I don't know who exactly I am meeting at the airport, or how I will know that person. I do not know where I am staying that night. I do not know what grades I will be teaching. I don't know if I will get to meet the Turkish teachers at my school or any of the other English teacher expats placed in other schools before classes start on Monday.
I'm just going to Show Up, and trust that I'll be able to handle whatever they throw at me. I know I can take care of myself. Two years ago, I don't think I'd have been able to say that. Of course I'm nervous. And sure, I wish a lot of those things in that last paragraph were taken care of. But they're not, and there's nothing I can do about that.
The other night, whilst gripped in a sudden bout of terror at what I had gotten myself into, I posted: "You are never prepared. If you spend your life trying to get prepared, you will never get anywhere. Just go."
Tonight, I have a popping wood fire and a glass of Fabbioli's cabernet franc. Sisyphus once again is stuffed full, along with his tubby overweight brother on wheels, Silenus. (It's kind of a funny marriage upstairs on the guest bed right now. I'm not bringing nearly as much stuff with me as I did to Georgia, but backpacking this is not.) Earlier this evening, my Dad went to work and I watched House Hunters International and a documentary about tropical fish with my Mom. It is... just another night.
And tomorrow I fly. To just Show Up, and see what the hell is going to happen this time.
It's right there on my list: "Farewell Blog Post". And I did complete every other thing that needed to get done on that list. Really, for the sake of parity, if nothing else, I should write something. Don't I have something pithy and frank and gently self-deprecating to share with you all?
Tomorrow I fly. And you know what the truly amazing, even ironic, thing is about that statement? It's kind of just started to seem like just another day.
In the spirit of honesty, I will completely allow that this blase attitude is quite possibly nothing more than self-preservation, as I have certainly been on the edge of tears and/or barfing more than once over the past week. But what makes me smile is that I know this newest adventure would not have been possible for me two years ago. I would have been too afraid. There is a whole bunch of stuff about this current assignment that I still have not the foggiest clue about, and two years ago, back when I was just screw up the courage to email Georgia and ask for a second chance, I'm pretty sure that facing this level of "I have no idea what is going to fucking happen" would have been too much, even with the incentive of mooning Ursula on my way out.
Georgia taught me stuff. About myself, and about life. About how your life doesn't need to become a copy of the lives you see all around you. My experiences in Georgia, and the people I met there, inspired me to backpack around Europe, which is something I never in a million years thought I'd be able to do. In Europe, I learned about winging it, making the best of it, and most importantly, just kind of having the balls to Show Up.
If I hadn't had my terrible job in DC, I never would have had the courage to go to Georgia. If not for Georgia, I would not have made the decision to go backpacking. And if I hadn't backpacked, it is very likely that I would not now be doing this.
Life just plain blows my mind sometimes.
For most of my life, it typically hasn't been in my nature to Show Up. I like lists. Planning. I like to know exactly what is going to happen and I like to have had a significant role in figuring out what those activities will entail. Tomorrow, I will once more hug my parents at Dulles and step on to a plane into the unknown. It is only the slightest of exaggerations to say that I have not the slightest fucking idea what is going to happen after that. I don't know who exactly I am meeting at the airport, or how I will know that person. I do not know where I am staying that night. I do not know what grades I will be teaching. I don't know if I will get to meet the Turkish teachers at my school or any of the other English teacher expats placed in other schools before classes start on Monday.
I'm just going to Show Up, and trust that I'll be able to handle whatever they throw at me. I know I can take care of myself. Two years ago, I don't think I'd have been able to say that. Of course I'm nervous. And sure, I wish a lot of those things in that last paragraph were taken care of. But they're not, and there's nothing I can do about that.
The other night, whilst gripped in a sudden bout of terror at what I had gotten myself into, I posted: "You are never prepared. If you spend your life trying to get prepared, you will never get anywhere. Just go."
Tonight, I have a popping wood fire and a glass of Fabbioli's cabernet franc. Sisyphus once again is stuffed full, along with his tubby overweight brother on wheels, Silenus. (It's kind of a funny marriage upstairs on the guest bed right now. I'm not bringing nearly as much stuff with me as I did to Georgia, but backpacking this is not.) Earlier this evening, my Dad went to work and I watched House Hunters International and a documentary about tropical fish with my Mom. It is... just another night.
And tomorrow I fly. To just Show Up, and see what the hell is going to happen this time.
Well done.
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