Uncertainty is dripping from the ceiling and I’m consciously unconcerned. I’m sitting on the floor in Terminal E of Logan International, a flight to London on my hour-away horizon. I’d venture to say that airports are one of the only places in the first world where it’s completely acceptable for a non-homeless person to sit on the ground as strangers walk around you (and music festivals).
For some reason, the flight, and the subsequent 8- month journey, are not at all looming. I’ve been thinking about this for so long, and told so many people about it, that I’ve grown a bit of a callous to it all. Only when I’m gone and away- here and arrived- will I actually notice that something monumental has happened. 8 months is a really long time right now, though in a few years it will feel like nothing at all.
Uncertainty is indeed dripping from the ceiling, and the stuff closest to me concerns my dinner conversation tomorrow night, the residence I might take up in Paris, the bike-ability of Athens, the effects of Abu Dhabi on my bank account, and the many errands I have to run in non-touristic parts of Kathmandu.
Farther away, puddles on the floor contain anxiety about a 15-hour bus ride, clearing a Nepali jungle to plan for a 300-student school, designing a school, and, well, building said school with a task force of a dozen Nepali workers. I’m sure I’ll have many “what did I get myself into?” moments, and I hope I do. After all, uncertainty is necessary to learn and grow, and that’s exactly what this trip is meant for.