“Even a simple word becomes superfluous when our lives are changing, and even more so when we are changing too.” Jose Saramago.
I agree, at some level words can’t speak to the feelings of both loss and excitement I’m experiencing in the midst of this change. But as a ‘change agent’ I can’t let this opportunity go without a little commentary.
I’m leaving for the Peace Corps in a few weeks – T minus 28 days and counting. (Is there an emoticon for Heart Palpitations?)
I’m definitely counting, not just the days, but the litany of chores I have to get myself outa dodge. Flipcharts of to-do lists hang on my dining room walls – three pages of them, with just a few chintzy items scratched off. I must ready my house for the tenants; organize my finances so Uncle Sam doesn’t come after me in Mexico; shut down SeeChange and get closure with my clients…
I’ve done this before – I could write a book about it and maybe I will: Gettin’ Outa Dodge: An Escapist’s Guide.
But I don’t think I’m escaping this time; not like before with Brazil which had a desperate, adrenaline-infused quality about it, not to mention a man at the hot center of it. Pfew.
My life in Washington right now is good: I’m pretty happy, financially stable, creative and productive, spiritually engaged, and even in some relative state of peace. This is the BEST time to leave.
Mom’s in town to help with the transition – if I can pull her off the sofa and away from Rachael Maddow to start sorting and sifting through my accumulated junk.
We’re going room by room. I’m not even much of an accumulator; yet it’s important to have someone with no stake in the game telling you to LET IT GO.
Letting go of the old and making space for the new – that’s one of the keys to change. You gotta make ah-space.
But the stuff is easy – it’s the people and the connections and routines that are harder. Yoga class with Alice on Fridays and with Chantelle on Sunday mornings, her sweet readings and lavender aromatherapy rejuvenating me for the week to come. And Marvin the Cheeseman at CW who calls me 'Anita' and has my Canoa Kids taped to the wall behind the counter. And Rock Creek Park.
I definitely won’t miss the IHOP.
I spent a few weeks homeless, where one of the survival strategies I learnt was to be awake when the parks are closed (12-5am). IHOP, with its affordable $2 biscuits and gravy, and sympathetic servers, often proved to be an oasis in a violent town awash with thieves and meth heads. I miss the way that IHOP made everyone feel welcome.
ReplyDeleteWow, thanks for that interesting perspective. Mainly I won't miss the IHOP because I never had it. The new Col Hts place doesn't open 'till the fall and I'll be gone.
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