Dispatches from The Trek (Pt 2)

March Something, somewhere out over the Atlantic:

In the line for check-in, a balding man in a cowboy hat shouted complaints about everything. My one prayer for my boarding pass was that it place me as far away from that grumpy old fart as possible.

So far, so good. We are an hour into an eight-hour flight from Atlanta to Frankfurt. The heavyset (Iranian? Romanian? German?) passenger next to me carries the weight of a fairly interesting conversation.

He discusses his kids, kayaking, travel, and the lessons he has learned at his job as a VIP tech support guy. His thesis seems to be, "take care of yourself first, and your family will follow."

I hope he's right, although as I nod and mumble assent, I think of the 40-plus kids at our afterschool program, and I know that they can't follow me on this adventure. Sometimes you need to have a go at The Mountain without any thought to who will follow, and why.

Dispatches from The Trek (Pt 1)

Note: I am currently heading to Mount Everest Base Camp in Nepal. I will be posting dispatches from the trip whenever I get the time. Here are a few snippets I wrote on the plane.

I say goodbye to Ruthie first at the door.

We embraced through the morning leading up to this farewell, the silver hands on the red clock inching toward departure. Here a hug. There a hug. As Jarrett sipped his coffee. Passing one another in the hallway. An arm reached out, my kiss on her hair, her head nestled in my shoulder.

I feel guilty for leaving, but the trip to Everest has been paid for, and Ruthie agrees that it is the thing to do.

She walks out the door prepared, and I wonder if I should follow her to the car, but I stand instead smiling and waving in the living room as she pulls the door into its frame with a thud.

I run to the patio door, but the key to the two-sided lock hangs in our bedroom. Too far to grab and return. I pound on the glass. She hears, sees, and waves.

We installed the lock to slow down the smash-and-grabbers who struck last time we weren't home. It occurs to me as I watch her pull away that this is the first time the threat of violence has seperated us instead of drawing us together.

When I was a kid, my parents said during one of our hundreds of departures for boarding school that it is easier to leave than to watch someone else leave. Since her cost on my adventure is high, I watch her drive out of the parking lot as a small form of penance, thankful for a chance to be the one who is left, if only to make it a little easier on her.