I'm about to dive head first into the unknown. Diving has never been my forte, so to speak. More times than not, I've had to be coaxed into the raging surf, as well as, the placid lake. I remember distinctly one summer evening when I mentioned casually to my husband who was seated by the pool reading the newspaper: " My goal this summer is to learn how to dive." I was busily marking off milestones for my fortieth year " Do you want to try tonight?",he asked. Ah, well OK, I said with a hint of hesitation. ( Dammit, don't you hate it when people take your casual comments literally) I stood resolutely, perched on the edge of the pool, arms outstretched over my head, head bent and fell into the pool. I disturbed the water's glistening surface with a splash, then bobbed to the surface sputtering. Just in time to hear the thundering applause of my diving coach/husband. "Alright, lady", was his response as he enveloped my dripping body with his arms.
As I enter my 57th year, I'm at it again, diving into the unknown:
except this time I'm leaping into a new culture, a new country, and a new job. I'm headed to Jamaica to serve as a midlifer Peace Corps volunteer. Yes, I'm bringing along my diving coach too.
I've been an avid journal keeper for the last 30 years. OK, I'll admit that some years have been more prolific than others. It's not always possible to jot things down while one is totally immersed in the moment, busily engaged in living life. I have been known to take painstaking notes while traveling the world with my husband and children. Yup, that was me at the Mayan ruins on the Yucutan peninsula, notebook in hand scribbling notes while the rest of my family waved to me from the top of a steep staircase. I was so preoccupied with jotting down the facts gleaned from our tour guide's talk that I didn't notice the adolescent Mexican boy standing in front of me. He plaintively asked if I wanted to buy a cheaply carved likeness of a Mayan god. Not only did I buy the useless trinket, I gave him my pen. As I handed the pen to his outstretched hand, unsurprisingly empty after deftly pocketing my money, I said in my sternest voice:"I'll give you the pen if you promise me to work hard in school" It's the little details that are forgotten when memories resurface.
With that in mind, I decided to create a private blog, a diary. A repository of sorts where I can capture stellar moments, reflect on life and no doubt, vent at times. I'm about to leave behind my closest walking friends, my confidants when I depart for Jamaica. Not only is walking the perfect venue for sharing your own day to day frustrations, triumphs and failures, it makes one a better listener too. I love hearing other people's stories, their thought processes while they grapple with minor and major decisions.
