You can grade papers in the tent that is in your bedroom, which will never again host your bed, next to your sick husband while he whimpers, “I don’t know what to do”.
And you can smile and rub his back and close your laptop and blow it off for another moment, because nothing matters more than being together.
You can stretch your sore back for a full 5 minutes.
You can ask for favors because you're running out of time, and know that the people you love who you’ve totally blown off, will forgive you because they love you too.
You can search frantically for the missing $50 check that your husband is going insane over, even though you don’t give a damn about the $50.
You can write about rape and love affairs, as if they have any baring on your life right now–the life that’s about to embark on a whimsical 8 month bicycle ride.
You can take your time, even though time is limited.
You can just be here right now, and know, in your heart, that this is more than enough.
You can ride on the wave of your trust, and shamelessly admit how un-scared and ready you're feeling.
You can care less about the whether report, and care more about The Journey you've signed up for.
You can play the same song on your ukulele over and over again for anyone who will listen.
You can wear your confidence with pride and know that your light will not be a source of sour in the world, but a source of healing and inspiration.
You can call your friends 100 times in 1 day until they finally answer the phone and you can share all the beautiful secrets of your heart until you both feel electrically moved to jump for joy.
You can listen for the truth, no matter what it is.
You can let your parents know, with all sincerity and kindness you can muster, how much you love them and how deeply you'll miss them while you're away.
You can write love letters far mushier than socially acceptable, and seal them with real lipstick kisses.
You can get teary-eyed at a soft man's story of leaving his family in Bolivia, and feel bad for all the times you never offered him the food you cooked right in front of him.
You can make that man lunch and listen to every story he wants to tell.
You can make a to-do list, even though you just preached about the Done List.
And you can feel amazed at what little attachment or drama you have around "getting everything done".
You can take 1,000 pictures on your iPhone and get carried away by the magic of the moment.
You can let the immensity of your gratitude seep out from every morsel of your being.
You can tell the truth.
You can ask for courage.
You can dream bigger than you ever imagined space for.
You can feel good about going on the adventure of a lifetime.
You can know, in your heart of hearts, that if you do nothing more than learn how to love wholly, that will be enough.
Thank you, dear loves.
My gratitude is as huge as the sky.
I'm feeling readier than ever.
How are you?
What things can you do between now and then to pay tribute to that spirit that has so much life and longing?