Adventures are often the bittersweet variety to me. The planning, preparation and anticipation gives way to the sudden reality that life as I know it is about to change, leaving me in that in between place of contained excitement and sheer sadness over what I’m leaving behind.
That may sound silly to some – who wouldn’t want to take off on the first leg of an international adventure? Many would have had their bags packed for days, counting down the hours and moments until departure with a nomadic exuberance.
Others might understand the trepidation, the baby steps it takes to jump off into the unknown with only a carryon bag and a laptop to remind you of home.
Perhaps this nervousness held me back from packing until the very last second, and maybe it kept me from revving up my batteries as I counted down the days. There is a difference between loneliness and being alone, and I’m not used to either. Sixteen years of caring for other little spirits, twenty-seven of having one always by my side, and suddenly, sitting in this tiny plane heading towards an unknown land, I feel it.
This is the jumping off point. There is no looking back, only forward. This is the quiet time to reflect, rest, and reason. There is plenty to keep me occupied – I’m really not alone at all.