Gravity

As written in the Notes section of my iPod, traveling at 38,000 feet:

Please allow for an extended metaphor.

A few weeks ago I found myself making personal comparisons with a high diver, twisting and turning in midair as I completed my first draft of the dissertation, traveled to Scandinavia, attempted a trip to Stonehenge but wound up at Brighton, arranged farewell dinners and parties and picnics with anyone I could think of. To put it bluntly, preparing to say goodbye.

I came out of the acrobatics last week, shaking hands with bosses and supervisors and lecturers and friends in what finally was farewell, feeling like I was finally pointed down at the water. I have a friend from elementary school living in Nottingham, the one I called when I was first considering a Master's degree abroad. We've known each other almost two decades. Four nights ago I sat across from her and her mom in a London pub and we remarked on how far we'd come. Two nights ago I sat on a blanket in the Angel and Greyhound meadow in Oxford with classmates I'd known less than a year but who I hope to see gracing the industry newspapers. This morning, one of them had already made the Bookseller. What a cast of characters. What a life.

So I'm out of my twist and I'm pointed straight at the water. I've been focusing hard these past few months on what my first evening back will entail. A quality New England beer, a veggie chilli (two L's), a balmy Boston evening and glimpses of the Hancock Tower on Copley Square. Now I'm on the plane, it's the periphery stuff I worry about. The things like, how to pronounce 'can't', and the baseball scores, and 'line' versus 'queue'. There are many things I've missed. Things I can't put a finger on but which seem to linger beneath every attempt to listen to US radio. In a few moments I'll be back in the pool, hoping I remember how to swim, sure eventually I'll be back in the air wondering about that wild falling sensation still fluttering in my stomach.

I have no idea what happens next, but no one ever dives so they can swim. They dive for this crazy feeling of midair, the way I asked friends last night about their plans to move to London, or China, or Tehran, or beyond. Once I land, all I know is, it's time to start kicking, to come back for air so I can do it all again.