I’m no sap, but I’ve cried more in the past 7 days than in the past 7 years and, quite frankly, I’m over me.
I guess I’m not dead inside after all. Who knew?
I figured there would be logistical challenges and there were. What began with the expectation of packing one checked bag under 50 pounds and one carry-on backpack quickly swelled to one 60-pound bag ($55 overage charge) a second checked, 32-pound bag ($125 charge) and 2 carry-ons. I spent the entire flight praying my apartment has an elevator. It does, but you first have to climb a long flight of stairs to reach the lobby. Soooo, not that helpful.
Thanks to my Remote Year fellow traveler and new friend, Rufus, for helping me push my bags through the airport and RY City Team Member, Mate, for carrying these monsters up the stairs.
More importantly, what I woefully underestimated were the wild emotional swings that result from jet lag, meeting and trying to connect individually with 55 friendly strangers you’ll be doing everything with for the next year but whose names you can’t remember today, being aware that you’re the oldest member of this group, nightly parties that get you to bed between 2:00am-4:00am, severe sleep deprivation, a regular work week but with a 6-hour time difference and the shocking realization that you are not going home at the end of 2 weeks which instantly makes you miss your people and your place in the world with an intensity you’ve never felt before. Oh and Aunt Flo. Ya, thanks lady. Fab timing as always. See you in Prague.
But between the high highs and the low lows of the past 7 days a sketch of this new, communal, nomadic life is beginning to form and it’s looking pretty good. I think I’m gonna like it here.
My new room with a view.
And what a view it is, too!
Oh, did I mention that my office is across the street from the beach?