To say this process has been easy would be a blatant exaggeration. It hasn’t. I’ve felt more prepared for genetics exams than I do for this beast of an experience looming exactly 23 and a half hours in front of me and counting. I am presently long into the double digits for stress, packing my bags again and again as I wonder what was going through my head when I chose to put myself through this kind of torment.
But the thing is, I did chose this. I chose this exact trip, this program, this adventure of a lifetime because I knew it wouldn’t be easy; it wouldn’t be standard; it wouldn’t be anything like what I’m used it.
It wouldn’t just be jumping a few feet outside of my comfort zone, it would be taking my comfort zone and watching it run off with it with a pack of wolves off of a cliff. I can hear it howl and scream as it plummets, like my stomach in my chest as I count down the minutes to my flight waiting, just waiting for the sound of impact as it reaches bottom. But it never comes and it never will, not until I actually get there.
For all I know the bottom of the abyss could be ground, hard unrelenting, unforgiving ground that I will fall flat against and never quite recover from. Or it could water, cool clear water that at first is terrifying as you plunge under the surface lungs filling with liquid as you struggle to tell up from down in the dark. But then you break the surface and the sweet warm air of the Indian ocean rushes into your lungs and you choke a bit but it’s there and you can breathe and air never felt so beautiful; life never felt so beautiful.
And so I’ll pack my bag one more time and wait for the impact in whatever form it arrives.