So it's unsurprising that the prospect of getting on the plane tomorrow morning at 10:25am is nerve-wracking. I don't want to cry on the plane and be offered a stale-smelling Klennex from the woman in 12B. I don't want to cry in front of the bus driver or the girls in my new apartment, and I definitely do not want to shed tears in front of the Lincoln Memorial. The prospect of that big statue of Abe Lincoln seeing the product of my transitionally-challenged personality is a bit too much for this girl. But I also know I probably WILL cry at some point. It will catch me at a random time. I'll be brushing my teeth on Sunday morning or reading one of the books for my Leadership & Vocation seminar. I'll be tying my shoes or ironing my clothes or making mac n' cheese. And suddenly, BAM! The prospect of being in DC for the whole semester will hit me and, like that leaky faucet you don't have the time to call the plumber about, I'll be spouting water.
But perhaps the challenge is to embrace this prospect rather than run away from it. If I face transition and new situations with trepidation, and have for the past 20 years, maybe I should cry with gusto, and get on with it. After all, there's nothing more painful or exhausting than holding tears in your throat (it HURTS!) and pretending everything's hunky-dory.
So, reader, if you are like me and find the prospect of living with strangers in a new city for four months tear-inspiring, cry with gusto. Know I'll probably be doing the same.
And for those of you who are transitional kings and queens, who adjust in the same amount of time it takes me to realize that my shoes are untied and about to trip me down the stairs (yes, I'm thinking about that because it happened to me today), I admire you.