How I am preparing for departure: visualization

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Disclaimer

This blog, this post, and all related accounts are not an official Department of State publication, and that the views and information presented are the Grantee’s and do not represent the Fulbright Program, ECA, the Post, Fulbright Commission, or the host country’s government or institutions.

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When I begin to write this post, it is January 11th, which means I have two and a half months until I depart for Uruguay. It is impossible to wrap my head around this shrinking timeline despite how much I talk about it. I feel so out of control as I frantically organize my weekly work schedule around sporadic social gatherings. Little energy remains for pre-departure tasks, so should I spend my free time contemplating the present or the future? 

There does not seem to be a perfect ratio. However, to soften the breathtaking blows of culture shock and physical distance, I am beginning my mental transition early. As a type A planner, I already curated a checklist with sub-checklists of purchases, forms, and tasks. My parents push me to progressively empty my bedroom in Duluth of unnecessary loads: out-of-season clothes, books, wallhangings, etc. Soon, my life will once again be reduced to boxes and bags to be reorganized in a new way, for my new destination.
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How can I visualize something that has not happened yet? Eight months' worth of life-altering memories, people, places, conversations - it is impossible. I will never be prepared, despite the checklists. But isn’t that the thrill of it: the unexpected? An otherwise cautious, prudent person, I seek opportunities that feed my curiosity about the world beyond my country’s borders. And the only way to know is to go without expectations or assumptions. 

On the other hand, in the anticipation before that momentous leap, there is an exhaustive amount of preparation. I worry that I might not get everything done, fill out all the necessary paperwork, arrange my hospitality plans to ensure a place to sleep every night or remember to bring essential items such as my computer or passport. Concerns of what lies ahead inconveniently pass through my consciousness, interrupting conversations about the here and now. The urge to scream, “Wait! What about this?!” is reluctantly subdued and reserved for a scheduled deep dive on my day off. 

Every discussion ends with more questions than answers. What subtype of dental insurance do I have? What kind of contacts will cause less hassle: dailies or monthlies? How can I pack three pairs of shoes (one just for running) that will be both comfortable and formal enough? Don’t even get me started on housing! I’m still waiting on those details. Oh, and I can’t forget - what on Earth am I going to pack?

I am beginning to imagine packing the next eight months of my life into a jumbo suitcase, which I recently purchased online. I imagine it will look like Lane Kim’s hilariously monstrous suitcase, towering over her with its weight of indecision and mystery. It will be a Russian nesting doll of backpacks and bags, strategically arranged to fit my three pairs of shoes, layers, layers, and more layers, and miscellaneous supplies shrunken into travel-size containers. 

Strategy, practicality, and humility are the keys to successful, efficient packing. How thick are my layers? How much space will they take up? What is easy to clean and hang dry? Do I really need this (fill in the miscellaneous clothing item I absolutely do not need)? What am I forgetting? There is always something. And, of course, everything I bring must have a purpose and be durable. Charging adaptors, contact lenses, and various bottled cosmetic products will be shoved into their respective pockets. Unpredictability is dependable on long trips, so my suitcase and its contents are my reliable anchors.

With travel, one thing is certain: it never feels real until I arrive at the airport. A predictable yet terrifying series of events unfolds. First, watching my childhood home disappear in the rearview mirror of an unfamiliar car, the Uber driver’s foreign radio foreshadowing the journey ahead. Second, piling layers of packs and side bags onto my shoulders until everything I own sits either on my back or rests on my side. Third, entering the terminal sliding doors that welcome me to the smells of leather, sweat, and circulated oxygen. Fourth, and most painful, rushing my parents in one last warm hug only to push them away before I am ready. I must be strong: I am the one who must step away, creating more distance between us. When I turn my back on them, and then face the foreboding security line, there is no turning back. I must finish the rest of the day-long trip on my own.

Until that moment arrives, however, I will return to my disordered life in the present. My calendar is filled to the brim with coffee dates, weekend trips home or up the North Shore, phone calls, and countless warm hugs. I will hold my friends and family – my home – close before I let them all go; though it is a “See you later, hasta luego,” not a “goodbye.” Through photographs, gifted photo books, and mementos, they will stay with me when I traverse the equator. Then, I’ll move from Minnesota to Uruguay, from winter to summer, from English to Spanish, from the known to the unknown.  

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