In less than 12 hours, I’ll be on a plane to Central America.
I’m spending my last spring break before graduation in Honduras, working with some people from my church to build houses and beds and to spend time loving a bunch of people I’ve never met.
This will be my second time leaving the country. The only other time I left the U.S. was for a family reunion in Canada. But this will be my first international flight, my first time being somewhere where English isn’t the first language, where I’m not comfortably familiar with the everyday culture.
This trip has been more than a year in the making, ever since I called my dad and asked him if I could during my junior year of college. He asked me to wait. I did, and a year later, I got the green light.
I can’t really explain why I felt, and still feel, the pull to go. I just know that I need to. My world is too small, to stiflingly stuck in my singular perspective, and before I shove myself into the ether that is “the rest of my life,” I’m going to take everything I know and blow it to pieces. (I use that phrase in the most positive way possible.)
I can’t really explain it, I just know I have to go.
I’m told I’ll have some access to WiFi on the trip, but I’m going to see if I can make it through the week without it. I’m going to throw myself into something new and do everything I can to put myself in the moment and just be there.
I have no idea what’s going to happen in the next week or what will happen to me when I get back. But I am going.