So next Saturday, Feb. 16, is the official day that everything changes. 8 a.m. I get on that plane and I quite literally leave it all behind. Everything that has happened in my life to that point will all be on another continent.
The crazy thing about this week is that there is nothing I can do to either speed it up or slow it down. It will march on, at its own pace, and it will get here in its own time, but it WILL get here. It will not NOT happen if I suddenly wake up and decide I’m not ready for Saturday.
Suddenly I want to contact everyone I know who’s done this before and ask them what they did that last week. Did they go out? Did they stay in? Part of me just wants to stay inside and avoid germs and cars and everything that I think might have the potential to derail my steady march toward progress. That march toward Saturday.