The time has come.

It's here. My departure date.

I leave in 16 hours for Dublin for an undetermined amount of time. I have a friend who will pick me up at the airport and a place to stay until I can find my own housing. Other than that, I have no idea what I'm going to do, but it may go something like this (in no particular order): Find a place to live. Find a job. Work. Save money. Ride my bike. Race. Have fun.

As for material possessions, I am down to 1 bike box containing my beloved 1987/88 pink & yellow Dave Scott Centurion, nurturingly referred to as "Bikie," 2 suitcases, 1 carry-on, and 1 personal item. Plus laptop.

But before I go, I have to go sew a gaping hole in the butt of my jeans.

***

I feel as if I'm standing on the edge of a precipice. Behind me, the land I know is flat and well-traveled. Below me, I feel the wind whip through my hair as I peer down into the black unknown, my imminent future.
This is what you are supposed to do, the wind says. Trust yourself, it echoes as I look up to the sky to watch the wind join the silver-stained clouds.