Monday, October 17, 2011

Chapter: The Next

I woke up in the darkness and caught a shuttle to the airport.  The problem with shuttles and their time windows is that I was fetched with an inordinate amount of time to spare.  I caught the first leg of my journey from Baltimore to the Motor City, and slept the entire way.

A rolling stone gathers no moss.

And yet I was growing torpid and mossy as I languished in the ennui of limbo.  But an opportunity presented itself, and I took it.  So now I am Communications Director of American Voices, a nonprofit that conducts cultural diplomacy.  They do such work with special focus on strife-torn areas like Iraq, Afghanistan and the like.  With any luck, I will get to tour such luxurious locales.  I will share more details in the coming days, but for now some of the news is embargoed. 

Meanwhile, I had been trying to shake the nerves that come with new endeavors.  But little signs kept me moving forward with cautious alacrity.  Like a double canon on the day everything went down.  Or the statue of our Quixotean hero in the Motor City airport to remind this knight-errant that the spell that had kept him trapped in La Mancha had been broken.  Or the big arcoiris that greeted smiled down after I had been pelted with hail (Ah, midwestern weather...)

Travel is like yoga to me.  It allows me the moments when I can just breathe and focus on what is next.
-Stephan Starr

I boarded the flight to Paris of the Midwest, took a deep breath and began to focus on what is next with a clarity I have lacked in a while.


Abba said...


Harry Rockower said...