Veloma

There is no ceremonious way to say goodbye.  It's awkward, and never as meaningful as you'd like it to be.  We end up making jokes, or saying something stupid or mildly inappropriate, and the moment is lost.

But it just reminds you that it's not forever.  It's not even that long a time?  Down the line, we'll make so many more moments that one lost one is not a big deal in the long run.

So, later, fools, we'll see each other again.  

As we loaded the car with all my junk, I couldn't help but feel like the situation was made out to be more serious than it actually was.

As I rode down Melrose Avenue, I distinctly thought that I maybe should be feeling more than I was at the time.

As I made my way through airport security, I felt weird looking back at my family and waving each time. 1, 2, 3 times as I pulled my laptop out of my bag. 4, 5, 6 times and I waited for my things to come out of the scanner.  7, 8, 9, and a tenth time as I shifted my foot into its shoe again.  I walked through the terminal and sat at the gate, as far from security as I could.  I played my music, and reached for my belt to put it back on.

Instead I found my camera.  We forgot to take a picture before I left.  I had been successfully pushing down the lump in my throat, but a single missed opportunity like that proved itself too much for my willpower and I started to cry.  As Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now lamented wasted love, I too felt there was a lot I could lament over.

I slowly got up and picked up my bags and returned to the security checkpoint.   My family was still there after 15 minutes, and I met them to say goodbye again.  We took some pictures, and got mad at each other, and made some jokes.  I was even able to talk to my older brother on the phone so I could say goodbye to the whole family.  When it was time to say goodbye again, I had a much easier time of it.  Nothing was very different, only I shooed my family instead of waved - I would be fine with everything this time.  1, 2, 3 shoo.  4, 5, 6, shoo.

And I boarded the plane.  And it took off.  And I made it to Philadelphia.  I think the hard part is over.

I'm Not Going to Pretend that I Know What I'm Getting Myself Into

It's just past 5am on September 28, 2008, and there is no more denying that I am about to begin.

In just a few hours, I'll be getting on a plane to start my staging, then training, and finally service in the Peace Corps.  It's hard to believe that I'm actually going through with this.  Don't get me wrong - I'm so excited to start.  What I mean is that I remember sitting in English class in the eighth grade listening to Mrs. Payne talk about her service in the Belgian Congo, and I remember that I wished I could do something like that.  Peace Corps hasn't been my life's ambition since that moment, but that just makes me marvel even more at the moments in my life that brought this fleeting wonder into a real life-altering undertaking.  I think a lot of people indulge in their own quiet fantasies of joining the Peace Corps and making a difference, and I was no different.  It feels like pure chance that I found myself in these fantasies again in my life.

I know that I have Natty to thank for doing that.  Just after my pilgrimage to Santiago, my professor, George Greenia, had us list a high hope and a quiet concern regarding our completion of the holy rite.  This wasn't new to us, as we'd listed several high hopes and quiet concerns before we had began our journey.  When it was my turn, I explained to my group that I had high hopes that I could share the experience of my pilgrimage with the ones I love and hopefully encourage another to make the journey themselves (I'm leaving my hiking pack at home so my brother can take it when he makes his pilgrimage next summer: mission accomplished.)  My quiet concern was just as important to me, as I'd felt it ever since I arrived in the town - would the pilgrimage be the most exciting thing I will ever do in my life?  It would be a shame to peak at 19 years old.  

And where's Natty in this story?  Well, just a few after I asked myself that question, I got to see my good friend Natty in Germany as she flew to Washington to begin her staging for Peace Corps in Jordan.  Even though I'd only known Natty for a year, she had become a great friend, and I felt so proud of what she was doing with her life.  I think that's the first time I really began to think of Peace Corps as a legitimate option for me.  As fate would have it, Natty is two years older than me and as a result began Peace Corps two years before I could.  As a result, we're currently in the middle of a four-year hiatus of sorts in our friendship, as I'm off to Madagascar before she had a chance to return to the States after her service.  And even though it's been a while since we've seen each other, and it'll be another while still, I truly thank her for her example, guidance, and friendship.  It has molded me and brought about a course in my life that until I met her was nothing more than a fleeting wonder in the eighth grade.

Send Me, Please...

M&Ms

White cheddar cheezits

Teddy Grahams (cinnamon, the red box, please)

Seasoning packets (Hidden Valley Ranch, mac & Cheese sauce packets, pizza/italian seasoning)

Drink mixes (sugar-free Kool-Aid, etc.)

Gum

Books

• Hemingway
• Gabriel Garcia Marquez
• John Steinbeck
• Anything you love - I'll read it.

Letters! It costs 94 cents to send a letter. Do it today!

CD mixes - anything you like. I'll love it too!

Photos! Especially of us!

CHRISTMAS STUFF! Peppermints, candy canes, anything with a Christmas feel.