Another Adventure Begins

August 22, 2011

I look confidently back into my Mom's sleepy, leaky eyes. The statement "I'll be fine!" confidently rattles in my head as I verbalize it. I reassure my parents that I will send e-mails confirming addresses, phone numbers, and an "I'm alive" status. I can't help but to be perplexed about the situation. Not nervous, just perplexed. Here I am, departing for a year from the two people who have defined the word "Home"  for me for so long. No, I've never been gone this long before, but I'm ready. I've been ready since my last adventure ended.

I kiss and hug my Mom and Dad goodbye, and as I take one last look back at them as they jump into the car. My Dad quickly waves back at me, smiles, and I can read his thoughts, "Remember to have an exit strategy." Yes, yes, I know Dad. I'll stay safe.

I enter the terminal which looks more like the Chicago rail system after a big music festival. Who knew there could be so many people assembled at 5:30a.m. on a Monday? As I daydream about the possibility of a flash mob occurring at this time of day in a major airport terminal, my eyes lazily scan over the words "Continental Airlines," and I queue up. The line is short, and I quickly realize that I could have printed an e-ticket for self check-in. "Damn it," I think, "I'm in the 'I don't know what I'm doing' line." My assessment provided for great foreshadowing to my check-in.

"Good morning, sir!" says a cracked-out Venna White look-alike, "Where are you off to today?" 

"Guatemala," I say, and then hastily explain that I transfer flights in Houston. I show her my one checked bag and elect to take Venna's offer for an emergency exit seat, which has more leg room. My tickets are printed, scanned and scrutinized. "Wow, your flight back is May 22. That's a long time to be gone." Yes it is and believe me, Venna, I've heard it all.

"Please drop your bag over at the security scanner. Enjoy your flight!" As I walk away to drop off my bag and re-situate my belongings, Venna makes one last swift move to make me feel like an idiot. She curtly says, "Here ya go, Junior," As she hands me my passport and iPod that I forgot on the check-in counter. "Great start, Thomas" I think, "Why don't you just leave your passport around more often?"

The ex-marine security guy at the x-ray machine hears Venna as he takes my checked bag, "Don't be all nervous, now!" He says. I'm not sure what he means; perhaps just a feeble attempt to be playful with the situation.

As I prepare to go through security, I search for my 5 foot nothing partner, Justin Rose. After retracing a 6 foot-loop close to both the security checkpoint and entry/exit, I elect to ask a random man for use of his phone to call my friend. As I ask politely for use of his cellular device, The Russian-looking gentleman asks me "For what reason?" Well, I think, to call someone. Duh.

I leave a voicemail on Justin's phone telling him my location. After thanking the strange Russian, I immediately run into Justin and his sister.

While I felt like a fool when I checked in, Justin almost topped me. Being a last-minute packer and sometime worrywart, Justin packed a suitcase as well as two backpacks (one big, one small). I only had a backpack and duffle-bag. In the stuffing of his suitcase, Justin had exceeded weight capacity by a few pounds. "ZZZZIIIIPPP!!!" says the bag, and after some rearranging of clothes and shoes in front of the Continental check-in line, we figure it out.

We line up for security and Justin says goodbye to his sister as I give a friendly wave.

"That was one hell of a party on Friday, man," Justin says. Our send-off party seems like so long ago, but it was just a few days back. Now, here we are, in the airport, and Justin and I agree that "it's getting real…and fast."

A pleasant surprise with a swift security thoroughfare gives us about 30 minutes for breakfast. We both agree to get food that is horrible for us. BK Lounge is the answer. Soon enough, we're on the plane, munching on our hash browns and burning our mouths with BK's crappy coffee. 

Throughout the last few months, I've had to respond to a plethora of inquisitive probes and opinionated statements regarding my trip.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"A year is a long time."

"You are going to remember that for the rest of your life."

"What are you going to be doing down there?"

"What kind of service?"

"Sounds awesome, man."

"Wait… so you're going to a monastery?"

"It's so beautiful down there."

"What are you doing down there anyway?"

"Good for you."

"Are you going to be a monk?"

"Now's the time to do it."

"Have you reconsidered?"

"It's good to get that of your system now."

or, my personal favorite…

"Why?"

I click on "Back Down South" by Kings of Leon in my roomy flight seat, preparing myself to associate a new favorite artist with new memories. A service trip to Guatemala… for a whole year! I chuckle to myself as I reflect upon my responses to all the questions above, especially the "What are you going to be doing down there?" question. If I ever answered that question, I lied. Truthfully, I really have no clue. I  just know that I'll be living amongst monks in Resurrection Priory, volunteering by helping the local natives. Beyond that, it's a mystery. Risky? Maybe. Dangerous? Perhaps. 

Adventure? You're damn right. I can't wait.