It’s time to write about my journey. In the last 30+ days, I’ve traveled from Atlanta to Chicago, Chicago to Seattle, Seattle to Paris, Paris to Rabat, Rabat to Paris, Paris to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to Seattle, Seattle to Portland, and now I’m here on the coast of Oregon sleeping and writing, and preparing for Georgia. I’ve had some time to reflect and I’d like to share some of my journal entries from the trip. Some, like my mind, are disjointed so be ready for that.
6-22-13 Panera Bread- Broadway Seattle
I’m curious to know why everyone wants to know if I’m excited yet. That’s the overarching theme of inquiry from loved ones. Excitement. I’m not excited. I’m 1/2 way between nervous and suspended in the jello of disbelief. A well-known organization is paying me to care for their children THOUSANDS of miles from home. That’s more bizarre than anything. I’m bizarroed out more than excited. This trip isn’t about me. It’s not even a trip, it’s my job. I feel more concerned with doing it well than anything else. I just want to do a good job. This might be the only thing that’s quantitative about my life right now. I want to feel successful more than anything. Life has felt tumultuous, painful, exhausting, dry, teary, and sad as of late and I think excitement is more than I can handle. I want black and white, squares and rectangles not grey…not dodecahedrons…nothing in the empty spaces. I want to step away from the scolds of my grandfather the disappointed and codependency trigger glare of my aunt. Her scowl makes me feel like a child…when my actions as of late are everything but childish. My actions were courageous. Going back into the snake pit that is my bloodline takes courage. This trip to Morocco is simple. All I have to do is follow directions parent youth, and work alongside coworkers. That is easy. Working alongside a team is easy. In my “normal life” I don’t feel like I”m apart of a team.
There’s a girl who sat next to my space and walked into it without invitation. She’s drifting. SHe leaned over my lemonade and put her chest on my straw. Her apologies were genuine, but I’m done with my drink now. Her clothing is ill-fitting and gear borrowed or stolen not bought. She’s homeless. Has been living on the streets for a bit and is talking to her mom on the phone. I know this because we’re sitting close enough to be sisters…lovers…friends….Not strangers who haven’t even been introduced by a smile. We’re so close and I may be annoyed…soon. *Ellen called and so I couldn’t finish this entry*