The experience of leaving began this February. I remember, because I told myself over and over that it wasn't time yet; it wasn't time to grieve; it wasn't time to prepare or pack; it wasn't even time to say I was leaving to anyone else. But I knew. February is six months away from August, and six months is a quarter of the time I've committed to this new endeavor. That's so ridiculous! I should not spend a quarter of my time in Morocco preparing to leave for here again!
Two weeks from now will find me in a very different setting from today, and I've made it no secret—I'm sad to say goodbye. I was listening to radio guest Norman Lear on "Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me" a few days ago, and he said that his 94 years have equipped him to give the following advice, and I'll paraphrase it:
Just two words, "over" and "next." When something's over, you gotta leave it. It's over. What's next? And if you could also imagine a hammock in between the two words, you've got it just about right.
So many things are over. Where is that damn hammock?
