I think it just hit me. Or maybe has almost hit me? Or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s almost time for me to leave the country again and therefore it’s time for me to start freaking out so I can pack properly. As learned from the Hong Kong experience, I pack best when not calm. The more stressed and scatterbrained I am, the better my packing job is. I know, does not make sense. But being calm causes me to forget things. Like everything one might need take a proper shower. Or get a new visa. But anyway, I’m moving to Europe. And while I have a home for my initial 90 days there, after that I….have to leave the Schengen area of Europe and…. yeah…
When I was in college, I lived at Starbucks. I was incapable of getting homework done in my apartment, so my friend Marta and I would head to our 24 hour Bux and chill there for all hours of the night, ideally working on homework. One night, we were bored with it and decided to make bucket lists. Our goal was to have a list of 10 things we wanted to do before we died…I think I ended up with about 12 and Marta topped out at 7 or something. Anyway, the point of this story is that on my list, naturally in no particular order cause that’s just a little too much effort/commitment/etc., is the goal of being a nomad around Europe. Looks like I’m well on my way to accomplishing this goal. And ideally, two others on the list while I’m living out my nomad existence: painting on a bridge…anywhere, maybe Rome, maybe Prague - as that will be a bit closer to me, and enjoying a pint of Guiness in Ireland.
Am I ready to be a nomad? I know that I’ve kinda considered myself a nomad for…oh, my entire life, but this will be taking it to an extreme. I’m trying to find comfort in my friend Scott, who I met while in ChengDu last May: he’s been traipsing around the world, finding odd jobs here and there and doing just fine. I can totally do that too. ….except, am I maybe ready for a real job? mmmm….maybe not. I guess we’ll find out.
In conclusion, I leave for Plzen, Czech Republic, tomorrow. I’ll be working with a school there for three months, volunteering in their classrooms and getting an after-school conversational English program put together. Hopefully. That’s the goal. And if it gets put together in such away that makes it easy for future volunteers to step in and keep it going, GREAT!
I leave for the airport in about 15 hours. And I’m not packed. Oh, sure, I have stuff in suitcases, but they’re already up at 50lbs each. And I still have stuff lying around the house. OH, and I’ve already come to the conclusion that I’m going to have to ship myself a box of my paints (so I can paint on that bridge) and my Korean Buckwheat noodles (because sometimes, you just NEED cold Korean noodles). That’s like 14.5lbs of love that will cost me $55ish instead of the $150 of being overweight. But I still have all that stuff lying around the house. And yes, I’m blogging and updating my Facebook profile and drinking my VT and not looking at the floor around my suitcases. Cause that makes me want to cry. And I’m not looking at the overflowing suitcase behind the armchair that I won’t be taking with me to Europe. And I’m not looking at the coat, sweater and Ugg boots that I’m wearing ON THE PLANE because of their weight factor. And I’m not looking at the dining room table that’s overflowing with MORE of my stuff. Cause all that really makes me want to cry. I hate packing!!! Oh, and I’m also not thinking about how I am traveling with the understanding that my carry-on, my ONE carry-on, is simply overweight. That’s just how it is going to be. Because I have a computer. And a harddrive. And a digital camera. And a manual camera. And a paparazzi zoom. And an iPod. And an extra battery. And a three and a half hour lay-over in Stockholm, so you know what 17.68lb weight-limit? I’m also bringing a book to read. My ONE book that I’m going to bring because I HAVE NO WEIGHT. ANYWHERE. Whoever decided to limit passengers to one carry-on with a weight limit is evil.
In 15 hours, this will all be yet another packing memory that I’m trying to repress. I’m excited for that moment. And I’m bringing along a tiny bottle of amarula to celebrate.
And then I get to fly. Across the ocean. Again. And I hate flying. But that’s another blog.