Countdown: 5 Days!
Five days until I get on my first flight out of here. Four more days of work to pretend I'm doing something productive. Four more lunchdates with good friends. Four more nights to see my friends and family to say my goodbyes. Four more nights to sleep in the most comfortable bed I will see for some time. It's bittersweet, I suppose you could say.
As time flew by I knew this time would come, and yet I feel surprised that it did. My closest friends and family came to see me at my Bon Voyage party and I've hugged more people in the last few weeks than I have in any given year. But I always make the same joke. "Don't worry, I'll be back in a month." It's my way of prepping people so they won't be shocked when I can't hack it and I end up coming home early. It's my way of diffusing the sadness of me leaving.
And although I have had the support of almost everyone I know, of course there are a few who are skeptical of my travels. It's discouraging. Not to the point of not believing in myself or wanting to turn back, but in a disappointing way. I suppose those friends call themselves realists, but sometimes I wish they would keep their "reality" to themselves. And so they can tell me, "I told you so," upon my early return. But I don't want any judgment. None whether I last a month or a year.
On an unrelated note: Timing is a bitch.
As time flew by I knew this time would come, and yet I feel surprised that it did. My closest friends and family came to see me at my Bon Voyage party and I've hugged more people in the last few weeks than I have in any given year. But I always make the same joke. "Don't worry, I'll be back in a month." It's my way of prepping people so they won't be shocked when I can't hack it and I end up coming home early. It's my way of diffusing the sadness of me leaving.
And although I have had the support of almost everyone I know, of course there are a few who are skeptical of my travels. It's discouraging. Not to the point of not believing in myself or wanting to turn back, but in a disappointing way. I suppose those friends call themselves realists, but sometimes I wish they would keep their "reality" to themselves. And so they can tell me, "I told you so," upon my early return. But I don't want any judgment. None whether I last a month or a year.
On an unrelated note: Timing is a bitch.
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