Nineteen Days

As many of you know, I was recently offered a teaching position in Ifrane, Morocco.  The announcement went out on Facebook and shock, awe and congratulations were uttered with varying degrees of enthusiasm.  While visiting my former school, I was able to tell my former students about this new crazy adventure.  While most were a little taken aback by the news many didn't seem surprised once it had sunk in.  It seemed like such a "Strem" thing to do.  Clearly my name had become synonymous with daring.  I was ecstatic to hear that. 

Now, I'm down to nineteen days left in the Pioneer Valley.  Nineteen days left in in the apartment with the crazy roommate family that I was lucky enough to find.  Nineteen days left in the place that I have called home for the last eight years.  A week after that I will officially leave the continent and move over three thousand miles away.

For the past few months, every time I think about it I end up with this stupid grin on my face.  My smile extended ear to ear as I laughed and talked excitedly about all the things I want to do once I'm there.  Overall, people have been saying that if anyone can more overseas alone, it would be me.  The support I've been getting coming into this new adventure has been absolutely incredible and left me with an indescribable joy. 

However, the closer I get to the actual departure, the more thoughts cross my mind and I realize that a part of me is so sad to leave and there is a part of me that is terrified. While it is an impulsive, crazy, amazing thing, there is something undeniably daunting about this adventure. There are people who I've seen and realized it's probably the last time I will see them.  People who I care very deeply about and that genuinely saddens me.  When I moved to the valley, only 80 miles away from the lives I'd lived before, I lost touch with so many people I cared about.  My twenties taught me that life really does get in the way and keeping up with old friends becomes exceedingly difficult.  So what's it going to be like when I'm thousands of miles away and five hours ahead? This question terrifies me.

There is also the daunting amount of paperwork and hoops I have to jump through in order to teach in Morocco.  My passport had to be renewed and expedited to ensure that I would get it in time.  I need my birth certificate, my college diploma, an official transcript (a battle in itself), a background check from the Moroccan Ministry of Justice, a medical exam upon arrival confirming that I'm healthy enough to work and live there, and the list goes on and on.  I can only imagine the difficulties of pursuing an adventure like this with a family. 

Then there is the reality of stuff.  I knew I had accumulated a lot over the years (living in the same apartment for 6 years will do that), but packing has shown me that I have an incredible magnitude of crap.  I've already donated four large trash bags of clothing and I still have more.  I also find myself bargaining over certain items.  Can I really afford the space for my 2 favorite paintings?  Will it be more cost effective to have people ship things to me after the fact?  Do I give in and pay the (expensive) extra baggage costs and bring an extra suitcase?  Realistically, the purge is actually satisfying.  It's nice to give my things away to people I adore so they remember me when they see it.  It's great to get rid of clothes I haven't worn in years and donate them to someone who may actually want them.  The purge is not the difficult part.  The difficult part is packing my whole life into two suitcases and a backpack. 

With all of that said, I came to a realization this past weekend.  The reason I am so truly terrified but still soaked in hope is this.  It is not the first time I've packed up my entire life and moved to a place where I knew no one.  I moved to Cambridge with a van full of stuff and created a fantastic life in the course of six months.  I moved to the Valley not knowing anyone and had the good fortune to meet a remarkable circle of friends that are honestly more like family. This is, however, the first time that there will be no going back.  In all other situations, there was a possibility to go back if everything went crazy.  In this one, I will be there whether I like it or not.  I will have to adjust to whatever comes my way, because there is no "escape", only adaptation. 

Over the last few months, I have been so well supported and taken care of.  I have had dozens of people who have already started planning and saving to take a trip to visit me.  With every promise, I feel a little lighter knowing that I might at some point see a familiar, beloved face.  Every time I mention writing about my experiences, people are excited to be able to be a small part of this adventure.  Many people have been willing to take my stuff, but have also already offered to give it back to me if I ever return to the states.  The number of people offering a place to stay if I come back for a visit.  There is something beautiful about knowing how many people love you that much. 

So cheers to you all, who I have had the good fortune to call my people.  To everyone, whether I haven't spoken to you for years or just talked to you yesterday, thank you for making me brave enough to do this ridiculous thing I'm about to do.  I adore each and every one of you and I could not have been bold enough to do this without you.  Last year I wrote a piece that explained that teaching had changed me into a completely different person, but I couldn't have become this person if the girl beneath the layers hadn't existed first.  It's been a thirty-one year journey to this exact moment in time, and I am so thankful for every person who has helped me get here.  I love you all, and will keep you in my mind and my heart as I go off into the wild blue yonder.  Let's hope the third time's a charm.