Priorities

    Something had to happen to make this trip seem more real, and I got that in spades.

     About ten days ago I bought plane tickets to leave for Morocco on September 3rd, and to return on June 2, 2009.  My expectation had been that I would be able to see myself in Fez once I bought the tickets, and that stronger preparation would soon begin.  But what it has really taken is the nine days since then to convince me preparing should be my priority.

     I want to call the last week and a half a time full of distractions.  I want to say it was time spent getting the most out of a few remaining moments of summer, of living with roommates, of classless college, and of down time in central Ohio.  To say any of those things would be a lie.  To say these were distractions would be a lie.

     A distraction is something that takes your attention involuntarily.  I deliberately paid attention to, committed to, and attempted to follow through on things that should have received no such focus.  In other cases, I deliberately ignored certain realities and responsibilities to others and myself.  

     I have made some people priorities when I was merely their option.  And I have treated some like options when I was made a priority.  When you treat some situations like this, you have to wonder how you will act in other, far more important circumstances.  And honestly, how can you tell the difference sometimes between which are important?  Aren't they all?

     But it can't go without saying that for much of this time, I have gotten many things right.  The bad instances themselves can probably be counted on one hand--it is simply the knowing they have happened and the thinking about them that has filled the void between them and been my focus.

     No more.  Last night I cleaned my room.  I did dishes and took out the trash.  I have made a packing list and a budget for money.  I have thought about what it's going to take to make friends there in Morocco, how to treat personal relationships, and to pursue confident, responsible strides toward getting to know Fez and Morocco.

     Mostly though, I've come to terms with what I should expect from myself.  That's what will make a difference no matter where I go.

     Game on.

One shot, one opportunity

I'll never get a chance to do this again. 

Nine o'clock on a Tuesday evening, after the day has cooled and the humidity thinned.  A few cars drive down Norwich Avenue, and a few more further away on High Street, but for the most part things are quiet.  And dark. 

A few dishes sit in my kitchen sink and next to me on the porch lay my silent phone and a half-drank beer.  Bell's Oberon, to be exact.  Sometimes it helps with the writing to sit in free-flowing air with something cold to drink and, most importantly, no time constraints.  

I'm waiting on a chain reaction of things to happen for me to feel like I'm really going to Morocco.  I'm waiting on notification from an insurance company that I'm covered while abroad.  When I can prove I have insurance, I get the money from one scholarship.  When I get that money, I can buy a plane ticket.  Once I buy the plane ticket, I can start receiving money from another scholarship.  

In the meantime, I'm managing a perpetual tension between excitement about studying abroad (not to be confused with excitement about leaving Ohio) and impatience over the real and perceived gastropodic slowness that has marked every step of trying to study abroad this time around.  If from life we seek guidance as to the structure of divine reasoning and decision-making, then I can only deduce from personal experience that God's creating the universe in seven days did not occur via bureaucracies.

Soon enough, this frustration will pass and in its place certainty, excitement and perhaps indigestion will fill the void.  And when it does, I'll never get a chance to do this -- to capture this moment -- again.  Until then, all I can do is sit on my porch and enjoy a beer.  Good night.