I open my journal to the first page, bending the book back so it will lie flat.  A new page.  A new beginning.  A new adventure.  My journal contains entries from friends and family wishing me well – a stockpile of reasons why I’m taking the step.  In case I need a little reassurance down the road, I can read through the pages.  The words written on each page are meant to inspire, encourage, reminisce, and congratulate.  Each entry is written in a different hand and a different ink.  I haven’t read any yet – I’m saving them for when I need courage.

So many possibilities lie in wait.  So many paths to choose and opportunities to explore.  It’s like being reborn but still being able to hold on to the past and those I’m leaving behind.

It doesn’t seem too long ago that I received my acceptance letter to culinary school.  In reality, it was six months ago.  Will time in Paris pass as quickly?  It still doesn’t seem real yet.  Probably because it was so much work to get to this place – a full time job for 30 days.  But I’m here.  I’ve arrived.

My friends all ask if I’m excited.  I think because it’s so intangible yet that it hasn’t hit me.  “No,” I reply.  “I still have a lot to do before I go.”  But now that everything on my list has been checked off, I’m free.

I wonder what stories I’ll be sharing a year from now when the first part of my journey is complete.  What images will have passed through my eyes and sounds through my ears?  Will I recount the big, exciting moments, like now, or will I tell stories of the little moments that took my breath away?

I’m on the plane – the moment I’ve dreaded for a long time.  I was afraid I’d be a total wreck the day I left.  But now that the moment has finally arrived, I’m calm and probably a bit numb.  I look out the window of the plane at Mount Hood bathed in snow.  Trees cover the hills like a dusty, white shag carpet.  I see the Hood River Valley where I grew up and do a mental waive to family and friends.  Beyond Mount Hood, I can see Mount Adams, Mount Saint Helens and Mount Rainier – white and pure like someone painted them with a fresh coat of marshmallow cream.

I still can’t believe it’s happening.  Once I set the wheels in motion, everything just moved forward automatically, like being in the track at the car wash.  I really didn’t feel like I was driving, but rather being pulled along to some unforeseen destination.  But then the car wash track ends and it’s my turn to drive.  The light next to my driver’s side window turns green.  I am free to go.

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