Date: 2005-03-01
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

6:40pm3.1.05Time is winding down, and synchronously speeding by on swift wings of flight. One stage of my life is entering the last scene of its final act, while another is on the verge of birth, a door standing on the ever-approaching horizon, not yet open, but the light behind is visible, shining through the cracks. I often envision my future as a black hole -- unknown, unknowable, but holding a galaxy of possibilities. Black holes aren¢t empty wells of nothingness. Quite the reverse (if I remember correctly from my high school physics class). They pull in, indiscriminately, surrounding matter, light, sound, everything. And that¢s how I see myself -- drawing in, on, and from all my various experiences, my various employments. Incorporating and integrating these pieces into the jigsaw puzzle that constitutes me, who I am. A puzzle w/o borders, constantly expanding, morphing, adapting. Rather than choosing a life w/ an established orbit, I opt for the unknown.March 1st. This is it. It¢s for real. It¢s really happening. It¢s really real. In two weeks (well, actually, eleven days, but who¢s counting?), I¢ll be on a plane, destined for Georgia, w/ my trusty pack in hand (or, perhaps, in the cargo hold), w/ my trusty stove lighter (known in non-hiking circles as a ¢cigarette¢ lighter) legally in my pocket. (Yep, the TSA and Congress have joined forces to ban lighters (but not matches?) from commercial flights, effective April 15. Gonna wreak havoc on the nicotine addicts of America. But, in the spirit of capitalism, I can already picture the vendors, wheeling their carts of disposable designer lighters, ¢suitable for every occasion¢.) Hard to believe that a year ago, I was in virtually the same situation. Actually, I think my planning is a little further along now than it was then. I mean, I have a start date, and a plane ticket. Last year, I was still trying to decide exactly when I should embark on this insanely sane (or, perhaps, sanely insane) journey. But, I started religiously reading the journals of the March 1st departees, and I was quickly sucked in, embroiled in their hardships, (mis)adventures, and joys, made all the more real and vivid b/c I knew that I would soon be experiencing my own version, similar and yet oh-so-individualized. The other journals I¢d devoured, (cyber) cover-to-cover, over the winter, no matter how well-written, no matter how well-expressed, no matter how deeply the words resonated w/in me and affected me and inspired me, they couldn¢t shake my very soul and core the way the hastily scribbled words, w/ their taut emotions and physical pains lunging through the computer screen to grab and tussle w/ my inner self, of my immediate predecessors of the trail did. They were forging the path I was soon to follow, and no words of wisdom or poetry of the previous year¢s troop could compare. It was really happening. And I was being gifted a two-week sneak preview, which I greedily consumed. And the same is equally true this year. I addictedly scour trailjournals, and pounce upon any trail update. B/c I know that I will soon be following the footsteps of these intrepid trailbreakers. And, I know that I¢m supposed to be some trail-savvy, trail-hardened pro, experienced, old-hat, and all that. But, frankly, the butterflies are wreaking havoc on my stomach right now, rompin¢ and roilin¢ and havin¢ a merry old time. I don¢t feel like a veteran; I feel a novice. I feel like each step will carry me to new, previously untraveled land (regardless of whether my feet traversed the territory last year). Each bend in the trail will afford new discoveries. Each day will by a mystery, an unexplored field of possibilities, just waiting, for me to delve into. The black hole of my future -- time to dive in...