Nearly There

January 9, 2009...
Sitting in the airport at gate 9, ready to board my final flight to Cusco. I have another couple hours to wait. It´s amazing, the 180 degree difference from the way I felt upon waking this morning. I was so sick with nervousness that I threw up in the airport parking lot. I was trembling, terrified at the thought that I won´t return to my familiar warm bed for several months. Frightened realizing how the language barrier might magnify my loneliness. I even thought to myself, as my mom helped me unload my luggage from the trunk, that I´d already never felt so alone in my life. I don´t know why such fear came over me. But now, 22 hours later, I feel a transcendant peace...loneliness can´t touch me. God is with me on this journey, which became manifest right after I puked; when that hazy, disorienting veil of nausea was lifted. God´s peace has enveloped me. I have become more and more aware, surer and surer, that he is next to me. Even now. Not because of any miraculous occurence but simply because, as I looked around at the Lima airport, bustling with international travelers and spanish-speaking strangers, I didn´t feel alone at all. I couldn´t. I could only smile to myself with insurmountable gratitude for the company I keep. I´m referring to God, of course...but also, a little stuffed bear that Vic gave me just before I left. He is a gray panda about 6 inches tall. He has scriffy-scruffy fur and wears a knitted sweater of forest green with navy and wine trim. It becomes him quite well. I´ve decided to name him Señor Reginald Wellington. I love that one of his ears is noticably larger than the other.
I put Señor Reginald back in my bag and began contemplating other things. Things that, I guess one contemplates during a 6 hour layover from midnight to 6am...I have this gray bag that I take everywhere. It´s my favorite. One of those things that´s worth every penny you spent on it because you use it into the ground. (¿Does that make sense or is it just really late...early?) Anyway, most times my gray bag acts as an oversized purse, weighted only by my wallet, keys, and cell phone, chapstick always, and maybe a pack of gum. And other times, like during traveling times, it is heavily burdened. Weighted with the usual and then some, it acts as a miniature, makshift rucksack. I´ve filled it with 3 books, a spanish-english dictionary, travel documents, a bottle of water, a camera, and some other necessities. As I was standing in line to board my plane, I could feel the heavily weighted straps slung over my shoulder. I looked down at my bag with a pout and offered it a mental apology. And that´s when I began to admire it. I realized that, sure, it´s easier and lighter when it has to carry less stuff. But it´s those really burdensome times, when it´s got lots weighing it down, that challenges the bag and tests its strength, resulting in character. Its pleather fabric is beginning to rip at the hems and tear off in small patches, and little white threads are fraying from the seams. It still carries all my stuff, every day, but now it´s got character. That´s what makes it my favorite, I think. If it never had to carry the heavy stuff, it wouldn´t be unique and special. It would be just like every other bag of its kind.