If not, I forget my wet laundry in the washer—for days. It isn’t good, for anyone.
So, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that I usually have a working, yet changeable timeline scrambling in my brain, everyday.
I don’t like to share it, not that I’m terribly afraid something won’t happen on “the list”. After all, one of my loosely hatched plans—to travel through Asia (Tibet & Nepal) after I finish teaching English in China—is on execute phase as we speak. However, sometimes even I admit, the ideas are a little too “Anna—you’re crazy” and I don’t like hearing that. My ego can seem mighty, but it’s fragile like the skin of a rabbit (read The Last American Man if you’re unsure on this metaphor, page 72).
So, to reassure myself on this last sudden change of thought, route, plan, destiny, whatever you want to call it. I consulted an old journal I filled with precious thoughts, various ramblings and mementos; the same journal that I brought on my unexpected journey back East to teach English in Zhengzhou. A town, which turned out to be a mega city. And though I was nervous, anxious as hell, in fact, and unsure if I had the made the right hasty decision—it turned out okay. In fact, actually better (consult this blog’s archives, in case you’d like a detail of my ups & downs in ZZ).
So, I reopened it on this day that I felt my head shake. What should I do? Abort the planned plan?!
(The "traveling pine cone" which did in fact travel with Ingrid and I on her big move from Tahoe, California to Magnolia, Iowa to New Zealand--though the pine cone didn't follow her to the last, nor unfortunately did I.)
Better than a magic eight ball, this is what it said:
(Before you read, remember this is a personal journal, the thoughts may represent me, but please, really, do not take them too seriously. I heed you. I wrote most of this while I was thousands of feet in the air, again, unsure of my destiny.)
“My passport finally arrived, the package was marked as Ms. Anna Frisky. I can never change my last name, obviously.”
Real wisdom, I know.
“If you really want to do something, you’ll find a way. If you don’t, you’ll find an excuse.”
–Samuel Butler
This, above, is one of my favorite quotations of all time and something I try to live by.
Followed with: “Green is good. Life’s a garden, man. Dig it.”
--Anonymous friend, the identity of which will remain concealed.
These equally wise words were spoken the night we climbed Cold Stone and slept on its downtown rooftop and consequently became “roof people” for several hours, one summer night. Oh yeah Mom, that happened, whoops.
As well as many photo-booth moments at Deadwood, an Indian feather and a Chinese propaganda postcard—usual suspects in a journal, I’m sure. With the words, New Beginnings, starting it all.
To seal my thoughts of stretching beyond a comfort zone in the next chapter, or at least rewriting the script, one last quote from another individual on the road:
“I should have listened to my father when he told me to become a teacher, but I told him, ‘What? Are you high? I don’t want to deal with those little brats.’ Now I’m 52. How did that happen?”--Shuttle driver in Rocky Mountain National Park
Ah, a reality of the 60s.
Of course, as to my real plans, I can’t tell you until that happens.
(This random and scatter-brained blog post could be representative of some of my to-do notes. Tis true, tis life. Now, I need to go get that laundry.)
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