Wednesday, September 25, 2013

The Lasts

Well, I'm pretty much all packed, which means that I've moved into the what-am-I-forgetting stage of getting ready to leave. It probably doesn't help that I'm writing this at one in the morning when I really should be sleeping. All the preparations that I had a week to put together are suddenly scrambling around in my brain, trying to all be remembered. Go to the bank, grab that bag, don't forget to find those Spanish notes.

This is the last post I'm going to write stateside. The next time you hear from me, I'll either be in Madrid or Soria, the town where I'll be teaching. As a result, I've been feeling sentimental about everything for the past week, which is not at all how I usually operate. It hits me in waves, the idea that I'm really about to leave everything behind and move across the world. I can still hardly believe it's real; I keep dreading someone's going to tell me it was all a mistake.

And then I come across one of the lasts.

The last hymn I'll sing at my church.

The last time I'll hug my little sisters.

The last time I'll drive by my old high school.

The last movie and TV shows I'll watch at home.

The last time I drive my car.

The last, the last, the last.

It's the little things, I guess, that remind me what I have to give up to reach for something bigger. I have thought endlessly about the things I'll miss while living overseas. And what makes me uncomfortable about leaving is that I'm missing these moments for my own personal satisfaction. I know this time, at least, that I'll see my immediate family at Christmas, and that I'll be coming home in July. But someday, I don't think I will come back. Someday, I'll have my last day as a resident and I'll come "home" a visitor. It's hard to wrap my mind around that, so usually I try to avoid that worry.

But today, that's what I've been thinking about, when I've had a moment to pause. One second, it makes me want to laugh, the next I want to cry.

The terrifying part of traveling for me is not a fear of new experiences, but a fear of what will happen without me while I'm gone. The what ifs start piling up in my head, trying to keep me in place and complacent. It's bizarre to be battling theses thought while at the same time, trying to pack everything I can bring that I think I'll want 3, 6, 9 months from now. I keep second guessing myself on what I'm bringing - well, really just on which shoes I have room for. I suppose that's a signal for me to rest while I can. I've done the best I can in the limited amount of time I had to plan, and now I have faith that everything's going to work out in my favor.

As an old king once told a shepherd - in a Spanish town, no less - "when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it." [The Alchemist, Paolo Coelho]

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