In less than 48 I will be landed in a foreign country: a country whose history, cities and cultures I know as well as my own, but only from books, movies and the television. And from my own imagination. The fact that I will be there, actually there, has not become real to me yet. Perhaps it is because this has been my dream for so long, because I have, in my many make-believe adventures growing up, already been there so many times. This is the challenge of having a rich interior life. The challenge and the gift. In two day's time I will be trekking the streets of The City, and tracing in the footsteps of so many of my heroes. I will be walking the hallowed halls of the University where scores of scholars and artists have made their mark on society. I will be climbing hill and mountain to stand where freedom fighters once made their stand. These are things I've done a thousand times before, and now I will do them for real.
But the clock is ticking. There are a million last minute details and a million loose ends to tie down. Or are there? I've packed and repacked my bag a half dozen times, just as I did as a five year old first starting kindergarden. I've made spreadsheets and checklists, and yet I still feel utterly unprepared. And perhaps that's alright.
Maybe in the end all you really need is a thing like a plan.
