It's a Date

I can finally say, with a tinge of sadness and anxiety, that I've bought a plane ticket back to the USA. I will step onto American soil (San Fran to be precise) on August 26th 2012. That's exactly two years to the day from when I quietly hugged my half-asleep sister goodbye in her bed, and crept out to a dark and sleeping city of Boston. In the cab, I pensively looked out the window at the blurry and unexciting scenery to Logan Airport. I tried to convince myself that my shivering was from being under-dressed in the cold wee-hours of the morning and not nerves.

I sometimes think of that person in the taxi on that morning -- That Me. Am I any different from That Me? Would That Me be happy with what I've been doing with the last two years of my life? I definitely don't think That Me would be disappointed, but I can't honestly tell you because I find it hard to think of myself in any way other than what I am right now. The funny thing is that my time of traveling in Asia all seems so distant, like a life I've assimilated into my memory after watching it too many times in a film.

The sky this past Saturday morning was striking and typical for a Winter's day in Australia: cloudless and vibrant blue. I patroned my favorite bakery and, with bread and coffee in hand, strolled down to a nearby park. I found a jungle gym on which to lounge about while I finished my breakfast, reflecting on the fact that my days in Sydney were numbered (and feeling mostly good about that fact).

A group of teenagers decked out in capes and swords were L.A.R.P.ing. On the playing fields, men were kicking around a rugby football. Near me, an old man let his dog off the leash and the dog did a wild dash that says he has been pent up inside too long. The dog rolled around and delightfully proceeded to military crawl for a few meters back to his owner, apparently unwilling to sever complete contact with the pleasantries of green grass. I think I felt a little like that dog. This was a good morning.

If I could have, maybe I would have bottled that morning into a jar, so I could remember it so clearly in the future. Or maybe I wanted to save those sentiments from that exact moment, because I know its easy to forget how lucky we are, and how exciting and open-ended life's journey really is. Well, Time has a funny habit of moving on and this moment was no exception.

I was broken from my daydream feeling self-conscious and awkward (which is a personality trait I am painfully reminded of on a nearly daily basis). An adult can only play so long on a jungle gym by himself before strange looks follow. I figured I'd do a more normal pursuit and walk around the streets of row houses with no particular direction or stopping point. If there is a motto I've tried to follow while traveling, I'd probably quote from a Dan Bern song, "Sometimes you gotta get lost till you wind up someplace new."

I hadn't thought of that song for a long while -- maybe a year or more -- until I got a text from a friend asking what I was up to at the moment. I replied, "In the process of getting lost somewhere near the football stadium." I queued up that Dan Bern song on my iPod to kick off the walkabout, and set out. A few minutes later, I noticed for the first time that he finishes the song with a variant of the aforementioned lyric, saying "Sometimes you get lost and you don't find something new."

You might think I'm insinuating that my trip has been a trivial enterprise. That would be incorrect. But I am saying, in a really long winded and somewhat contrived, figurative way, that I guess I don't feel I'm any different than That Me in the cab in Boston two years ago. Or if I am, I can't really tell the difference. And I guess it doesn't really matter either way. You, dear reader, may one day soon be the judge.

In an ironic way, the idea of heading home is more daunting than leaving. I left for Korea on a one way ticket with my own means and a flexible itinerary (to get to Europe; Ha!). I'll be coming back with plans of catching up with family and friends, and after that, confronting the existential abyss. It means figuring out a new life again -- one that seems to be calling for a less transient lifestyle -- or figuring out how I'm going to procrastinate that for a while longer. Man, the existential abyss is such a pain in the ass. I think Nietzsche said that.

Anyway, I'm excited for the first phase of being back in the USA! T-minus 63 days!