6/26/14
Those of you who know me well know me to be a bit of a planner. Some call it Type A, others simply organized, and some people I know think I am raging lunatic. So..I make lists. Lots and lots of lists. Never before have I made as many lists as I have in the last couple of weeks leading up to my departure for Africa. Do I have the right chargers? What about enough space on my external hard drive? What exactly is a terabyte? Is it normal behavior to pack each and every clothing item inside its own zip lock bag?
I am currently sprawled out on the floor of an airport in Brussels, awaiting the second leg of my flight to Banjul, The Gambia.....and I want my toothbrush. No degree of planning or pack-savvy will outweigh the last minute panic of shoving any and everything you see into whatever bag it will fit into in order to make a flight. I have the wrong shoes on, my protein bars have inevitably melted into my one and only hairbrush, and my teeth have developed a layer of fuzz so thick, I feel compelled to offer my mouth up for scientific experimentation. This is not ideal.
The point of all of this, I suppose, is to say that some things in life cannot be planned. It's taken me so long to get to the point where I can say that and actually (well, mostly) believe it. Some things are just organic (much like tongue fungus) and need to evolve into whatever they are meant to be. I am boarding this plane in about 20 minutes, and am trying to appreciate these last moments of blindness. I don't know what I am in for in the next 24 hours-or in the next 24 months. I can't make a list to check off, or really plan anything about it, but I am making a promise-here, now, smelly, and disheveled-to be okay with that.
p.s send mouthwash
