Travel Mode
I want to believe that it’s good that I awakened at 4:00 am. Maybe it will help nudge my bio-rhythms toward the 12-hour time zone change that is on the schedule for today (and tomorrow, since it will take two days to get there). I get out of my cozy bed and head for a hot shower. Afterwards, I cut my toenails, which may seem mundane but is anything but when I’ll be away and mostly wearing hiking boots for the next three weeks.
On the stereo, I select my favorite music, knowing that I won’t get to do that for a while. I dress in the clothing that has been piled, waiting, on a nearby chair for a couple of weeks. This stack is mostly cotton, my fabric of choice for comfort when traveling through the aviation system. In my carry-on suitcase and backpack are what I will wear overseas, all quick-dry garments. The outer layers have to be of versatile colors, since there is just one sweater, one down puffy, and one wind/rain layer. The choice of baseball caps is important since it projects a lot about you. I remember the time in remote Patagonia going across a one-person bridge. Those waiting to cross from the other direction greeted me with “Go, Broncos!” when they saw my Western Michigan University cap.
Anyway, packing is old news. The “practice pack” was three days ago, and it went well. Part of travel mode is staging stuff for a trip in the spare bedroom, sometimes for weeks. A few days ahead of departure, I pack, while there is still time to recognize that some things will have to stay home, and others will need to be added. Items that are used daily are noted on a list that rests on the bag, since it would be a bummer to forget my journal, or my dental bite block.
Yesterday, I stilled the pendulum of the grandfather clock, afraid as I always am of forgetting this one important thing. The dishes were also washed yesterday, so they could dry. I wander to the kitchen, put them away while the tea water boils. I check the dogeared “Departure” 3x5 card that I’ve pulled out. It is a very helpful checklist. Thermostat adjusted: check. Windows and doors secure: check. Computer backed up and turned off: check. Printer, too: check. Toilets flushed: check! Notes for housesitters up to date: check. Plants watered and gathered on the counter: check. Mail delivery suspended: check. All the little tasks of departure are greeted and attended to, rituals of daily life that they are. Assuming all goes as planned, I will return and renew all these things.
The day may be young now, but before I lie down on a bed again I will go halfway around the world and land in a city with a million or so people. I am eager to hear their language and learn about their customs—especially those of the people we will meet once we escape the city for remoter areas. But at the moment, I am still here at home. Very mindfully, I walk with my tea to the woods, where I sit a while, quietly taking in the gifts of this peaceful setting. With me goes the last-minute departure task of dumping the compost pail. Check.
I make my way back to the house, and carefully close and lock the back door on the way through. Finally, it is time to go. I walk through the house one last time. Nothing moves, aside from the fish outside in the pond. The stereo is off. No clock is ticking. The silence is a good sort of quiet. I’m ready. The day awaits.
