The Art of Running for Your Life

The impulse comes when we are standing in the airport: Run. You've made a mistake!

My timing, however, leaves something to be desired.

The house is empty. Our stuff is scattered--rehomed, in air freight, or sailing around the world in a shipping container. There isn't a home to run to anymore. And this is the moment I decide to freak out.

Really, really, reallyreallyreally great.

The past weeks have been so busy, so vivisected into to-do lists and itinerarys, that I haven't really had a chance to overexamine what we're doing.

Now? My hands are shaking. I feel a little sick.

Kelly has just dropped us off on the sidewalk outside the airport, and I'm hating that she's driving away. (Wait, wait, you're coming, right?!)

The cats are in their carriers, and I am hating that they're going on the airplane--What if they get scaredcoldhurtsick?--and oh crap, I may actually start crying. Like, really. Me, juicily blubbering, right there in line, waiting for the security guy in the polyester to scribble his benediction on our boarding passes.

Whoa. I need to get a grip.

Because I helped make this decision.

Because it's Luxembourg, not the moon.

Because haven't I always said that someday, SOMEDAY I would do this? That it would be good for me, a challenge, a chance.

Because I already know the moral of this story. I've repeated it to myself a million-billion times.

Adventure may hurt you, but monotony will kill you.

So, okay. Okay.

Enough with the drama.

Luxembourg it is, then.

Here we go.

See us run.

*Title comes from Mary Oliver's "Work, Sometimes."

#travel #timesifreakedout #star