I thought I was fine, I really did. I had accepted I’m not going on the race just yet, I picked a new route, I made some short-term plans, and started doing what I needed to do to go back to the race.
Then it started happening. I’ll be scrolling through Facebook, minding my own business, and maybe laugh at a funny status or picture. Until I see a picture or post from my squadmates showing their backpacks, their passports, or anything else indicating they’re leaving for the race this weekend. The smile disappears from my space as I sigh in defeat.
This is the pits. If I had a more eloquent way to say it, I would, but that’s as good as I get right now. I have nothing inspiring or poetic to describe how I feel. It’s the pits. I’ve been wondering since I left training camp how I would react when my squad actually left. This isn’t too far of from what I guessed, so at least I knew what was coming.
I don’t have peace about this. I wish I did, but I can’t lie. Not every emotional wound has healed just yet. I’m working on it. I’m getting the help and support I need. I try to have patience with God’s timing rather than mine, but patience was never one of my stronger characteristics.
I wish that I could look at a picture or Facebook status from my old squad and not immediately be filled with envy. Without being heartbroken that I’m not going to see them in a matter of hours. Without choking up when I realize I won’t be in the same country as them for almost two years.
And worst of all I hate that I will most likely never see most of them in person ever again. I will never hear a funny story from Brad, get a hug from Ronny, sing with Kaitlin, or hear a word of encouragement from Brittany. At least not face-to-face. If I really wanted to torture myself I could say something about every member of the 40-person squad that will reunite today in Atlanta. Am I being melodramatic? Most likely. But I was not ready to leave my squad when I did. I thought that I had proved myself, that things had gotten better, and that AIM wouldn’t send me home. Wrong.
I cried writing the first draft of this post last night. It was the first time I had actually cried about something World Race related since they told me I had to leave training camp that horrible Wednesday morning. If this is how I am before my would-be launch, I have to wonder how seeing my squads pictures or reading their blogs while they’re on the field is going to go.
Now that I think about it, maybe it isn’t the best time to spend a month in a foreign city where I don’t really speak the language and know absolutely no one. It’ll keep me busy, but I’m afraid I’ll burn out.
This last six weeks or so have been a blur. Sometimes it doesn’t feel real. I simultaneously can and can’t imagine what it would be like if I were going on the race. I feel so far-removed from it that sometimes it’s like I never happened.
In fact, I feel so far-removed that right now it would be easy to figuratively torch the whole thing – forget about the world race entirely, get a job, find an apartment, and move on with my life. I’m not saying I’m going to do this, (I am absolutely not going to) and I’m not saying I wouldn’t regret it if I did (because I would). But it would be easy, and I have to be careful not to make any stupid decisions when my emotions are running as high as they are now.
Within days the iSquad will be on their way to Panama. Maybe once they’ve officially left the U.S. it will be easier. Maybe it won’t.
Final thoughts:
It’s hard to stay in the right perspective. “Big picture” is impossible to see when you’re trapped in the bottom left corner of the painting. The painting remains unfinished for now and I have no idea what it’s going to look like at the end. All I can do is watch it unfold with each brushstroke.
