On Saturday, I flipped my Spain calendar from August to September and saw “SPAIN!!!!!!!!” written in really big letters. I thought I was going to pass out. This is really happening. And it’s happening in EIGHT DAYS.
I have purchased my new, lightweight suitcases to accommodate as much of my crap as possible. My clothes and teaching supplies are laid out in Margaret’s room so I can start to roll them, put them in plastic bags and pack ’em up. I’ve spent the summer researching everything from cell phones and post offices to tapas bars and package deals to Lagos. I’ve watched a million movies and read thousands of pages about living and working in Spain. My guidebook is already tattered and marked up, and I haven’t left the country with it yet. I’ve ordered traveller’s checks, in dollars AND euro, my health insurance provider and credit card companies know I’ll be abroad, and I’ve said goodbye to a lot of people already. Compared to last time, I’m much more prepared. Maybe it’s just the prospect of knowing I’ll be gone for four times longer than two summers ago that’s freaking me out. Maybe I’m nervous to teach.
But I have been to Spain before. I’m familiar with the people, the culture, the language. I think I’m just scared I won’t be able to make it over there and I’ll disappoint myself. I’ve never failed so miserably at something that I couldn’t handle the fallout. This could be the first time, and I won’t be able to call my mom for help (without having it cost her $2 a minute). It’s scary to be out in the real world alone, much less being in a foreign country where you don’t really know anyone.
So the plan for this week: Tie up all the loose ends. Finish researching cell phones and hostels. Call all the people who know ANYTHING about Spain. Maybe contact my school, if that’s important. Really psych myself up mentally.
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