One Week To (Radical) Departure

We are overwhelmed. Over-tired. Over-excited. 160-odd hours until we are dumped at the terminal, herded through security and ushered down the corridor that smells of stale air and jet fuel.

I figure the degree of complexity in traveling and working around the world falls somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. More complicated than filling up a truck and moving in-state, less complicated than moving a family of four to another country.

Nothing is 100% yet and may never be. Not going paperless, not moving out, not having the last-minute travel necessities. I’m reminded that perfection is the enemy of good enough.

I splurge at REI. I have t-shirts, underwear and socks made out of merino wool, which wicks moisture, keeps you warm when it’s cool and vice versa, and retains no odor even when worn for days on end. I’m strangely compelled by one manufacturer’s avant-garde marketing campaign, which assures me that relative to their size, merino rams have the largest testicles of any farm animal.

My dance card is punched. This week is full of meetings, document filings, pushing client deliverables out the door and finding 3 oz containers that won’t leak at 30,000 feet.

A sense of loss and death, both literal and figurative, punctuate our transition. AliSun’s grandma passed two days ago; the funeral is two days prior to departure. Our dear friends lost their dear dog yesterday to an off-leash pit bull; it’s devastating to even imagine.

We transition too.   The familiar fades, the unknown beckons. We are being reborn into a world of Spanish, German, Dutch, French.

We are shedding our skin. I envision Raymond for the rainstick. He tells me the night before he started composing a song using rainsticks. I envision evan and Jessie for the Flip HD. They tell me the night before they spoke of the fear of not capturing their daughters’ lives in video.

We choose to live in a world of possibility, synchronicity, imagination.   We choose it for ourselves and those around us.

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