Nine months after our dreamy conversation about picking up and moving to Australia, Carlos and I boarded our flight for Sydney. There were so many thoughts whirling through my mind the night before our trip and I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge the anxiety building. THANK GOD we planned a superb going away party to commence with less than twenty-four hours before take-off. The support of friends and family was the perfect distraction. And what good friends we have! And they are all so attractive! Nevertheless, this last week has been a roller coaster of fear, excitement, a twinge of sadness and some nervous jitters. It’s very similar to going off to Brown for my freshman year. I knew when I said goodbye that I would see my parents in only a few months and the friends I grew up with would be around for Thanksgiving. But it was the end of an era and the start of a new path. Similarly, as we danced and drank and gave farewell hugs, I felt that same unspoken pull. Who knows, we could return to the Bay by Christmas if things really don’t work out. But we won’t live on Lyon street again. And we won’t have our jobs and our routines. We will be starting over.
One of the last things I did before we piled our four suitcases and two bikes into the Valle car was go for a run along the water in Half Moon Bay. Anne made me an awesome playlist (thanks girl) and it felt appropriately dramatic to run alone next to the big blue before we traversed across the globe to another side of the ocean. It was one of those epic moments that I knew I would file away. When I expressed my nerves and doubts about our imminent departure for Tasmania, my dad reminded me that if you aren’t scared, you haven’t stuck your neck out far enough. And just as I could see Elizabeth rolling her eyes at the drama I am making of all of this (we’ll be back soon for god’s sake), I remembered one other mantra my dad lives by: if it’s not dramatic, it’s not a good story.