Ready to Go

I wrote this on Saturday night, September 15, 2007

Walking home from the Internet cafe, Mussori glows in the hills below, calmly, comfortably, its routine done for the day, children and shops warmly tucked away, dreaming now. Meandering, the path leads me home, visible in the light of quaint century old street lamps. Remnants of my conversation with Sidney bounce around in my mind, thinking of NYC in the cooling summer days, streets my heels know, long time friends, a city I call home. B.C.'s warm hello makes me smile. He sounds good. We wished each other a happy new year.
In the past month, my life has settled into a routine, easy and without challenge, woken by a bell, meals prepared, white people all around, English spoken. Challenge has been absent. Emails and phone calls fill out the frame, inform me of the comfort zone that I know so well and has crept over this latest locale. But, as comfortable as its been, so too has it been stifling. Scuba diving since I've arrived, my air is delivered through one tube, my interactions staged, group dynamics swimming with me as a school of fellows, trapped near shore during low tide of this new and foreign ocean. We can't swim too far, our instructor watches intently. Terribly frustrated, I am ready for this to end. No more masks, no more groups. After a month of being in India I am ready to be in India.

That comfort zone is nice and I think of it often, question the decision to leave it and participate in this trip. Absent from the lives of friends and family during a time of much transition and uncertainty, guilt often enters my mind. At times I too provide that comfort zone for others and my choice to be here impacts them. Computer screens and Internet profiles type to them, tell them that I am there for them, a sounding board for any thoughts they might be having but my dot com aliases are wholly insufficient, failing people in their times of need.

Lucky for me, despite my absence, I know they remain there for them, and me for them, in whatever ways we can. A tight rope walker's safety net, there, but not in sight, sure to catch me if I fall or waver, looking down to see people who love me, encourage me, advise me, put my eyes back where they need to be.


These are the questions I am curious about. What sort of personal constitution does it take to live overseas? Could I work in international development, live worlds away from the people I adore and rely on? Aware that these questions are not easy, aware that there answers lie, in part, in the next nine months, this land of fairytale clouds needs to end.

With that safety net secured, my mask set to be torn off tomorrow morning, my time in India starts. Finally I cast off into the ocean on my own, without any one way to go, no instructions on how to breath, where to go. I can't wait; I am terrified. More than anything, I am ready. I am ready to try and learn the language that has stared back at me from textbooks and grammar exercises, to get to work, to understand Dalit discrimination in a lived sense, to meet my coworkers, move out of a pack, breath city air again, get lost on buses, meet new people, work, feel alive, useful, exploring throughout the tough questions that arise, aware that they hold the key to personal growth. Comfort forces me nowhere.

Walking on, there are fewer street lamps now. Tomorrow's path, my time for the next nine months on the other side of the world is before me: there, but I can't see it. It is not lite. Wise trees line the road, guiding me back to the hotel. Tomorrow these wise trees, these calm mountains, this comfort zone is going to be traded for honking cars, smog, uncertainty. No more street lights to show me home. Safely, I arrive at our hotel where I will sleep for the last time. Smiling, I am ready to try and light my way from now on.