One More Month

One month from today, I leave for...well, everywhere else. My last day of work is August 10, and I figured to drive to Salt Lake City on the 11th, but it's a long way and there's a lot to do, so if I can cut off 2-3 hours the night before, that would help a lot. Which means I need to start packing in about 3 weeks. The summer is really flying! I don't want to wish my life away, as Grandma always warns against, especially not the summer, my absolute favorite time of year, but I am looking forward to hitting the road again.

Do I hate it here? No. I wouldn't even say I'm unhappy. I could do with a bit less Deer Hill, and I doubt I'll cry when I go, but I am glad I did this. The Waldorf conferences have been a treat, and I'm eager to start doing shuttles again when they're over (as point person, I can't just go trotting off to Sand Island for the day). We're starting our busiest week of the summer--I'll be working at least 7 days straight--with groups arriving daily and cycling through basecamp duties. My stamina's flagging a bit, things are getting intense with my colleagues, but in 6 weeks, I'll probably be longing for the ease and comforts of Deer Hill.

I got word from the recruiter in Korea that my documents were received today, and they check out, so they'll next go to the Seoul Ministry of Education. If they like them, it's time to apply for a visa! I keep reminding myself that being here is just ramping up for Korea. I may not be having the time of my life or building lasting friendships, but I can speak easily to anyone I meet; I know how to bank, get groceries, and use public restrooms; my car is here, that comforting and useful friend that I can have regular adventures with for just a little longer; and there are a million other details I haven't even realized I need to appreciate. I've left my favorite people and places behind already, but in a greater sense, I'm still home. The post office is the same, the electricity is the same, the signs in the National Parks are that reliable government brown, I still need my road atlas, and though people may notice my license plates, I attract no attention whatsoever. Things are about to get a whole lot weirder.

Already it's time to be thinking of what I want to do before I leave. There was all summer for evening walks in Mancos, but I haven't done one yet. At best, I've got 2 "weekends" and 4 single days for exploration. I still haven't hiked in the mountains much, and I haven't been to New Mexico; for the single days there's Durango, Telluride, Hovenweep, Mesa Verde some more, or any number of hikes. Not to mention packing. It's a good thing we have to write the date on the leftovers we put in the fridge--I at least know where we are on the calendar, even if people's Facebook posts about weekend activities perpetually take me by surprise. I don't listen to NPR, I don't interact with the outside world very much at all, I have nothing that anchors me to any particular day of the week. All the recurring details of my life--oatmeal in a red bowl for breakfast, class/lunch/Britcoms on Saturday, looking forward to a skate with Mark or dinner with Dad at the end of the day (and, ridiculously often, having to juggle the two at once), walking around the block at night, racing against the piling dishes, feeding my guys before bed--have been abandoned. But the date on the extra french toast reminds me that time is slipping away, my grandiose plans turning to tangled memories, and perhaps the biggest (and loneliest) adventure of my life growing closer and larger all the time. In one month, I begin the transition from a town without a drug store to the biggest city I've ever seen.

Bring it on!