Transitions

 "MA! I'M IN INDIA!" he interjected.  

Fortunately, for purposes of conniption prevention, this was not news.

I was glad to be jolted from a mother's worry and transported to traveler's reverie.  I know that feeling, I love that feeling.  That's my high;  that dawning recognition of being in a foreign culture.  It's THRILLING--

But enough about me.

This is the brash undertaking of my son, gallivanting on a whim.  When I'm not vicariously waxing euphoric, I'm PETRIFIED!!  This is my baby!! 

I'm so impressed by the utter boldness of the move--barely a month past high school graduation, of his own volition, at his direction, against (his parents') better judgment, on his own dime, and in his own company, this young adult made his way to the other side of the world-- that it distracts me from being anxiety-ridden about his, um... preparation deficit.

That's okay.  Independent travel in foreign countries teaches many lessons in resourcefulness.  I won't worry excessively and I haven't hypervventilated in hours.  He has a long and mostly successful history of jumping in well over his head.  He is a bull, after all.     He learned what a Black Diamond was from the medic splinting his 8 year old leg after he'd managed to get from the top to the bottom of said diamond, twice-- on his second ski trip.

He's a young man, now, so-
it's back to me.

After nearly 19 years, my central focus is /SNIP/ detached.


No more play readings or basketball practices or sleepovers or rides home for friends from camp, basketball practice or the movies; no more person pretty much obligated to do whatever (within reason) I tell him to do.  No more curfew.  No more making lunch right after dinner, no more driving to whatever school way cross town, nor picking up from the metro, nor daybreak runs to CVS for posterboard nor vanishing field trip permission slips.


What am I 'GO'N DO' NOW?!!!


I don't even want to go to Disneyworld.   Now, Bhutan, on the other hand...


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