Empty Suitcases and A Full Heart

Tomorrow is the big day. I am headed north for the summer, to town of Rochester, Minnesota, the Mayo Clinic Emergency Room, and ten weeks of learning firsthand what it means to be a nurse.

We leave tomorrow morning at 9 AM. My trusty old car is sitting patiently in the driveway, waiting to swallow my belongings into the gaping mouth of its trunk. The same belongings which at this moment--less than 18 hours from my departure--are still scattered about my room, in varying states of disarray.

I've spent most of the morning trying to instill some order to the diverse and sundry items to be packed, and also to the contents of my heart and mind. I'm a mixture of fear and excitement, apprehension and expectancy--a tangled bunch of thoughts and feelings and nagging fears.

You see, I'm horrible at change. In the school of life lessons, I'm still lagging desperately below average in this area. Leaving the familiar and the comfortable is one of the most difficult undertakings for me--doesn't matter how attractive or wonderful or beneficial the situation I am heading towards. Nope, I'd much rather stay right where I am, thank you very much.

But the past three years have taught me that is not a possibility. What I must do is change: recognize the fear of uncertainty within me, then choose to act despite it. This summer, my internship, a new home and job and town and roommates, is yet another chance to practice this terrifying yet exhilarating behavior.

So come tomorrow morning, I'm heading north, towards a great many unknowns. But I know I am not going alone. And that knowledge is precisely what I need.