Cramming my backpack for the last time on these soils, puts me in a reflective mood:
1) Ripe clothing? Check! (With thanks to my daughters who shared their laundry tips with me: “If it can’t yet totally stand up on its own, and if you don’t see people risking their lives in the street to avoid having to pass you on the sidewalk, its probably good for at least one more wearing.”)
2) Video cuts, photographs and shorthand notes? (Why do I always find myself apologizing for using words and images that many of you won’t understand?) Check!
3) Spanish language primers? (For all the good they did me!) Check!
4) Lucky talismans from friends around the World ?(Ainhoa, I’ll be darned if I can figure out which direction is lucky for the “heads” on the Basque Lauburu! That it comes from you, I’ll take as good luck, no matter which direction they are facing.) Check!
5) Pumped up kicks? Check!
But wait! There’s something, here, tucked into the recesses of my pack! I draw it out reverently, with faint memory of having put it there. It’s that lofty title “Peacebuilder Fellow to Mexico (short term).” Hmmm. I touch it softly, exploring its contours, saying its name out loud to see if it sounds any different than it did when I put it there, lifetimes ago. Some of the dust and glitter drop to the floor by my feet, but it feels the same as it rolls off my tongue: Still a little frightening—still extraordinarily unattainable. I tuck it back in deep as a kind of time capsule, wondering if one day I might be worthy of it.
Well then! Guess that’s it! I’ll sweep the floor, shut off the light, heft the pack and, with a final flourish, stride boldly across this last threshold . . .
NO BULL!
Hasta la vista, Mexico!
