Pieces and parts

I have been purposefully avoiding my blog.

I feel like my body and mind are being ripped in two directions, neither of which I am truly a part of anymore/yet. I feel like I'm floating in this tank of water, facing East, with no land in sight, with the direction only to swim away from the chunk of land in the West that I jumped off of, and now can't see anymore either.

You know where I am?? I'm Pi in that boat. In the middle of the ocean. Alone (except with my tiger -- a handful of las personas muy importante para me). With no direction. Stripped of almost all my belongings. I feel vulnerable. I feel scared. I feel crazy. I feel exhilarated. I feel brave. I feel sad. I feel certain. Perhaps I can liken it being lost in a foreign city and needing to remind myself to go into survival mode instead of panic mode.

It is in moments like these that I know character is defined and strengthened and courage grows. And I can feel all three happening to me now, but I also feel a woodpecker irritatingly tapping away at my courage and strength boxes, Morse-Coding the message, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?!"

"No!" I feel like screaming. I don't. I really don't. I am taking a huge chance. Leaving things/people behind that I would rather not, hopeful that my life will work out the way I see it in my head. Or a adventure-filled version, at least. I would really like to flick that woodpecker into next week with all ten of my fingers. :)

It is July 15. 10:44 p.m. My last night in my cozy guest cottage in the Willo neighborhood of central Phoenix.

(Sigh) I can't.

So much has happened outwardly in my world since I  last wrote, and a million more things have been transpiring mentally.

Where to begin? Seriously. Where?

I have sold most of my furniture (I am sleeping on an air mattress right now), have had to say a more-than-difficult goodbye, and am forced to say farewell tomorrow to a neighborhood in a city that has been transformative for me this past year.

I got an e-mail from Alison on the 12th detailing my departure dates of sometime during the Aug. 9-15 timeframe. She included a PPT of information about common questions that are asked during this time of the process (such as: what kind of school supplies should I be packing? Do I need to get vaccinations before leaving the country?) and two forms that need to be submitted by the 20th. One of which is basically a form detailing all the possible ways I could harmed or die while living abroad and Footprints is not responsible for any of them moving forward. That was a fun one to initial.

I feel like I've got things sort of under control, but as I lay here thinking about what I need to get done in a slim window, despite my better judgment of staying cool, calm and collected ... I'm starting to panic.

I have one more day, tomorrow, to do the following: jog in my neighborhood for a final time (ugh, so sad); go through my mail and pay credit card and medical bills; call institutions and change my address with them; scan workbooks onto a flash drive; call Verizon and terminate service as of Aug. 11 and have them unlock my phone; schedule a visit with Mazda for Aug. 1 to see if they will buy my car out of my current lease; meet up with my friend who is buying my copier/scanner at 10 a.m.; have lunch with two friends at Green at 11; move all remaining personal items out of guest cottage and into my parents' condo; clean guest cottage; buy two suitcases that fulfill Etihad's dimensions/weight restrictions; and pack for Wisconsin.

Wednesday morning at 6 a.m. (WHAT was I thinking?!) I fly out of the valley and into Milwaukee for a two-week farewell tour of the people that I love there. I know that this trek will be memorable, and filled to the brim with laughter and tears. I know that when I return to Phoenix on July 31, I will have a week, maybe two to be a resident of the United States. I know that I will have to start arranging final visits with my friends here, stop by Brunson-Lee one final time (as school will be back in session already) to see my kids. I know I will continue to miss weddings, babies being born, celebrations, graduations. This is a sacrifice that I made, when I signed my letter of offer back in April -- when this opportunity seemed so far off and exotic.

Everything feels so final. And I hate that word. Or I have begun to hate it. I also do not enjoy using the phrase, "goodbye" because it feels so final. So two words with meanings that are not agreeable to me. Humph.

It's not final though. Barring I don't fall into some bad health or dangerous situation over there, I will see all of these people that I love again. Some only when I return to US soil, others on UAE soil, and still others or some of the same on other foreign soil. But, I have to say, with one very difficult 'see-you-later' under my belt (MMbb), that it is a conscious thought stream that needs to repeated hourly, or my brain automatically goes to the final compartment.

Someone told me today to not look back, even though I may feel sad/conflicted. He said that this is all part of the process. I know he's right ... and maybe ... maybe I just need to focus on how lucky I am to have so many people in my life that make this farewell process a difficult one instead of the sadness that blurs the edges.