On the plane, and I'm going to have to limit myself on how many times I'm allowed to look at the clock. I keep the flight tracker up so I can constantly know how much longer it will be until we land. Then I'll add that to the time, add the nine hour time difference, "is the plane on time?", "how many hours until I see my new family?", "oh, seven, okay, how long until we land again?" and the cycle repeats. My mind is crawling with thoughts about what will be waiting for me in France, and is riddled with thoughts of killing that annoying child who won't stop crying five seats behind me. Sometimes I find my heart racing and my palms getting sweaty, even though I don't think of anything nerve wracking. I guess the months of only excitement are catching up with me. I still am excited to be there, to start a new life, but I'm having the very normal reaction of also being a bit scared of it. I've always been confident in my French skills, and I find myself seriously doubting them now. I say a lot of words, then immediately hone in on the ones I don't know. Awake, asleep, shoelaces, contact lenses, all of those words taunt me and I'm scared for when the day comes that I have to circumlocute and play some charades to get people to understand me. This year isn't me stepping out of my comfort zone, it's me racing out of it in a race car with no brakes. It's me jumping off a cliff without having checked my parachute. It's me diving down to seventy feet without checking my psi. This is so far out of my comfort zone that I don't even know how to describe it. But I know that this is what I want, and that you're supposed to step out of your comfort done every once in a while. I'm just not sure all if my teachers meant for me to take the phrase so drastically.
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