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.