I’ve passed the two-week-to-go mark. It’s thoroughly arbitrary, I know, but somehow when my departure was a month in the future it felt far off but two weeks just feels more imminent, more urgent. Maybe it’s knowing that I’ll have one more full weekend at home—hits all the dad-guilt buttons. I’ll watch my daughter play soccer and then fly out the next day. My wife and I had what will probably be our last night out together (without the munchkin in tow) until January. We went to Barbette—our usual place—ordered our old favorites, tried a couple of new desserts from their pastry chef and said good-bye to the manager. Our usual waiter was unfortunately on vacation. We chatted with her for awhile and she comped us champagne. Good closure for one piece of our life here.
The past few weeks have been strange—I mean throughout the whole summer I’ve been sending out e-mails that will arrive in the middle of the night or early, early morning. When I wake up the next morning there are replies from people with beautiful names whom I’ve never met. It’s like being caught between two worlds—a twilight existence. I live my day-to-day life with all of the responsibilities—driving, groceries, play dates, walking the dog, tuck-in duty—but as I look around, there’s an awareness, almost an observational distance and reflection. I experience the stores, traffic and the personal interactions but I’m looking for the assumptions. I look at what I’ve laid out for packing and then all that we have in our house and wonder how much of it is necessary. What am I carrying with me culturally that I don’t even know is there? While I’m trying to stay in the present and not obsess about the next few months, I can’t help but wonder about what my life will be like in India. I walk Jack and I marvel at how broad the streets are and how far apart the houses are (not to mention the size of the houses, the newness of the cars, and the amount of stuff we have). I received some really hard family news this weekend and found solace in the fact that the Basilica of Saint Thomas will be close by, but then moments later a letter about the transformational experience from working with a guru and Eastern mysticism arrives from a friend. Two worlds—connections in both, twilight. How will I change? While I know that would not have to travel 11 time zones to have these thoughts, there they are nonetheless. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m ready to go.
I wonder about how this will affect my daughter, too. How will it influence her thinking? What will it mean to her? What will she take away from it? She’s five, bright (well, I think so at least) and very observant. She’ll have memories and she’ll think about experiences; she’ll have stories to tell her friends. Maybe it’s just going to be part of her and her reality—this is what families just do. Talking with a neighbor a couple of weeks ago we discussed how they were trying to instill values of openness, tolerance and cultural curiosity in their daughter by hosting a foreign exchange student. I hope that this experience will have that affect on Mads.
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