Insanity, eh?

Much like the hurry-up-and-wait of the military, preparing to leave the country has consisted of an emotional cycle of calm progress with occasional bursts of freaking out. The littlest things have always been my Achilles heel, temper-wise; now, everything from dropping my keys to the daily occurrence of nightfall usually prompts a fit of screaming rage, or the sudden fear that the furniture remaining where it has always been indicates a complete lack of progress on getting rid of stuff. And when you're moving abroad, a portion of your entire life and existence is dedicated to how many things you are getting rid of and how very few you will be packing and/or taking with you.

 Any other time of the year, the somewhat rare text message or phone call received was a welcome disruption to the boredom of everyday life. Now, when my phone makes a sound it makes me tense, as it more than likely is a demand on the too-little time I have. The phone making a sound becomes the sound of choosing between friendship and being ready to go to Chile.

While I haven't second-guessed my plans nor ever harbored an idea that living abroad wouldn't happen, every once in a while the following thought would pop up: "What the HELL am I doing!? I'm moving to another country!? I can't do that, what am I thinking!?"

 And while I've readily given away most of my belongings without a fuss, I still need to ask Keri the expat if all of this will REALLY be worth it in six months.


I think while ordering Thai from the restaurant down the street that there won't be delivery where I'm going. Instead of being able to leave in the morning with a to-do list of 5 items that are completed by the end of the work day, I will soon be seeing entire days eaten up trying to accomplish one minor or mundane thing. I am (willingly) leaving the one place on earth where life is about convenience, efficiency, and alacrity.

 I also realize my immigrant students must think I'm slightly crazy to completely nuts for wanting to leave the country they've given up so much to get to. That I might choose to live in the country they wanted out of instead of America must be even more ludicrous. But at this point in my life, crazy isn't as crazy as crazy once seemed. I spent my 30s looking back on my college days, a little horrified and mostly amazed at how tenuous my livelihood and life was. Living a 9-to-5 life on my own at 33 made my 20s seem so precarious. Four years later at 37, I have even less than I did back then since at least then I had a job, but it doesn't worry me. No working no cry!