I’m leaving tomorrow. I need to call the bank and give them travel notice. I need to fit an entire years worth of clothes in a fifty pound bag. Clothes that span the climates of three countries. I’m hungry. Boarding pass. where is my passport? FGhJFNSb765432hcb!*&^%$#@!mz.n…….

I don’t know about everyone else but I do not get excited about impending travels until I am on the plane flying away. Simply because I do not have time to think about the awesome adventures to come. My days leading up to a year abroad in South America consist of: hanging out with every person in my life, avoiding real responsibilities, going to various doctors and getting every possible pill that might or might not save me in the depths of the Amazon rain forest, packing up my life into large boxes from the container store, offloading pictures onto a hard drive, selling clothes at Buffalo Exchange, throwing a going away soirée-potluck, the list goes on. So while I furiously pack fifteen hours before my flight I am also furiously typing because deadlines are the only real structure in my life right now.

In addition to furiously packing and typing i’m also furiously wondering about how I got here. At this moment I don’t know how a years worth of work got me to this day. How is it that I spent an entire year of my life planning for this trip and the last step of putting clothes into a bag and saying goodbyes is the hardest part? Even after all these years of seasoned travel I still don’t know how to process the feelings that I am feeling: the sadness of leaving friends behind, worry of many things, anxiety, anger, excitement of the unknown, and yet I still can’t express much more than half-baked responses to copious amounts of attention a day before departure. I am hoping that once I arrive in Quito things will calm down in the way that I can temporarily leave my old life behind and focus on starting a new life somewhere else but that’s also sort of silly to me. Do we ever just get to start over? I think not but maybe thats also a naive way of looking at the world, one that is less than malleable. These are just a few of the thoughts I have whilst shoving heaps of clothes into a bag. I also wonder if my bag is over fifty pounds yet?