Pre-departure musings

I came across this just now, from something I wrote a little over two weeks ago: “I want to stop planning out my life… I just want to get out of it— move somewhere, do what I want, and let life unfold.” It’s a little ironic, considering I went into Barnes and Noble to buy my host family a photo book of Seattle, and felt obligated to browse through the France part of the “International Travel” section. I wasn’t really enjoying myself, just picking up, flipping through, and re-shelving every book after a few seconds. It was wholly unsatisfying. Because I was waiting a while for Kelly, I meandered over to the journal section, found a gorgeous, gray and ivory leather-bound journal, but couldn’t muster up yet another $40 to spend (and thing to pack!) before I leave, no matter how I justify it. Still waiting, I wandered back to the travel section, and the only book I settled on and actually sat down with was my trusty favorite, a book I already read over two years ago: “French or Foe.” And then it kind of hit me: I’m reading this book because it’s the one book in the travel section that is NOT a tourist guidebook; it’s a culture study. It’s a guide to manners and codes, general demeanor and what to not take offense to. I really can’t force myself to read up on European destinations, excellent hotels, and scenic spots. I couldn’t tell you which arrondissement the Eiffel Tower is in, or how far the Loire Valley is from Paris or Nantes. I know I’ll see it, as well as the multitude of other tourist destinations, so I don’t really want to waste time planning things out. Where’s the excitement in that, anyway?

Here’s the other end of it, though: I have this lingering guilt, or a persistent panic, of sorts, that is nagging at me, telling me that I’ll be behind if I don’t plan things out; that I’ll miss out on really getting the “best of Europe” and the best deals if I don’t plan ahead. It’s that left-brained part, prompting me to be logical, sequential, and plan things ahead, while my right brain is telling me that I’ll get the feel for Europe no matter what I do. That if I’m at point A and want to get to point B, I’ll figure out a way to get there. It’s the random, spontaneous part of me, telling me my experience abroad will all be okay in the end, whether I read all four of my guidebooks or not. So here I am: I’m finally moving somewhere and letting my life unfold. I’m not planning ahead. I’m not over-thinking things. I’ve got a few goals, a ton of ideas, but for the most part, I’m sort of allowing this fog (or adrenaline rush, or oblivion) to take me over and move me wherever, and I trust I’ll learn something new, whatever I’m doing. It kind of makes me laugh, that I’ve never done something like this before—never been across the ocean, never traveled to and stayed at a destination all by myself, never spoken French outside of the classroom—and I’m panicking that I haven’t prepared myself enough, though I’ve also said that this is exactly what I need. I guess seeing what I had written earlier was the perfect comfort to me. I don’t plan, and I feel like I need to; I plan, and wish that I didn’t. While cognizant of the fact I’m never totally content where I am, it is slightly comforting to see that where I once wanted to be is where I am now.

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So, here we are. In six hours, I leave for four solid months in France. I really don’t know what to say about this, except that now I’m giving a LOT more credit to friends and family that have studied abroad/traveled by themselves before. How is it possible to stay sane pre-departure? I’ve been tossing and turning the past few nights, unable to sleep due to nerves. It still doesn’t feel real that I’m going to be going there. It feels like how I feel before a final (I know that’s a sad comparison)—full of nerves and anxiety, while also feeling like I’m ready; there’s nothing more I can do. So the inability to sleep combined with a 6:30am wake-up call yesterday makes things interesting. But hey, I’d rather go through this than have to drag my sorry jet-lagged butt out of my bed in three days, unable to explain in proper French to my host family that, je suis desolée, but I am NOT a morning person.

I feel obligated to say something about leaving home, but I'm at a loss. I kind of feel like Bellevue's no longer my home; it's a great, big, self-conscious, ever-changing city. I still love the people, though, and that will never change. In typical Sarah fashion, the fact I'm leaving won't hit me until I'm long gone, so I won't say any sort of teary goodbye. I love my family and friends, and all they've done with me and for me. I truly had an amazing summer.

As for this blog, I have no idea what it will turn into. I won’t promise anything deep and philosophical. I can’t promise regular postings and updates, since I don’t know what the Internet situation will be. I don’t even know how to post photos on here (yet), so bear with me. When it comes down to it, as much as I enjoy writing and do so frequently, I’d much rather be exploring and absorbing as much as I can rather than simply blogging a summary about it. (Though brevity is not my strong suit, so long posts are something I can promise.) There’s not much else to say now, except let’s see where this all takes me…

A bientôt!

Sarah