Things that I am worried about:
- jet lag
- getting sick
- getting lost
- getting in trouble at work
- not knowing enough Turkish
- packing too much stuff
- not packing enough stuff
- being utterly lonely
- a host of neurotic theories that the universe is against me:
--- Lufthansa not actually having a seat booked for me ("I'm sorry miss but that computer printout is not a real ticket... I have a James Burgess listed here but not a J Bira. No, there's nothing you can do.");
--- my employer not actually existing (Day 1: "Mom, it's me. Yeah, I'm in Izmir. No one showed up to get me from the airport."; Day 2: "Mom? Yeah, I made it through the night. I got a cab to take to me to the school's address but there's nothing there but a McDonald's serving kebabs...");
--- electrical plug converters being a hoax ("There's definitely no way to get that weird plug on your computer to fit into this outlet.").

A friend had said to me earlier, "You're leaving pretty quick, huh? You ready?"

Are you kidding me?! I had my first little panic attack yesterday (stomach-churning combined with the sensation that the temperature just rose 10 degrees and the overwhelming urge to cry and curl into the fetal position). No I'm not ready.

Would I ever be fully comfortable with this plan, when the point is to be uncomfortable? There's no option but to just take the plunge.

If I learned anything from going skydiving a few years ago, it's that letting go of the plane was the absolute hardest part. Falling was surprisingly calming because by that point, I was completely out of control. Gone were the opportunities to second guess myself, to to change my mind. The only option was to ride it out.

But first I had to get out of the plane. When we had gotten to thousands of feet above the ground and the little airplane door rolled back and the earth stretched huge and wide; when the sky stretched even wider and I realized that it was empty and thin; when I knew that I belonged to gravity in an intimate way--then my stomach seized up and my arms and legs got that wiggly-weak feeling. If it hadn't been for the jump-master who I was buckled and strapped onto stepping out into nothingness, I never could have done it. I needed someone to jump me out of the plane for myself.

And the CELTA course, my contract, my plane ticket, they're all buckles and straps attaching me to The Ticking Clock that will pull me out into the sky and force me to dive as best I can. Otherwise I would just stand here gaping at the world--terrified and anchored to comfort.

I just hope that Turkey is even remotely like skydiving. But deep down, this is the only thing in the world that I want to do with my life right now, and even if it's not like skydiving, I'll figure it out.