Like a Cold Shower . . .

Very early last Saturday morning (January 3, 2015), in the inky darkness of Sanibel, I slipped into the cab for the airport, flying and arriving, still in darkness, at the Atlanta airport to await a rendezvous with my students for our flight to Costa Rica.  At the window overlooking the rainy tarmac, I finished my previous post just as the first student showed up.  Suddenly, my lingering reverie upon my father started to ebb as I was forced to make sure all the students (but two) made it to the airport - no small concern for the lead faculty - and take measure of their own excitement mixed in no small measure with fatigue from their early morning wake-up.

Fast forward to San Jose airport in Costa Rica.  Now the focus was to make sure the other two, who were supposed to arrive from Chicago at roughly the same time, would also be located and join our group.  As their flight had been delayed, I sent the other students on our bus to the local mall to wait, and I stood by the horrendously constricted single exit from the airport in the hopes I could spot two gringos among the hordes of people exiting.  I waited, and watched, realizing that probably a third of the exiteers were in fact gringos!

A year ago, this was an exciting moment when I stepped through those same doors, the first step in Costa Rica, taking in the pace of the people, the thick crowds around this one exitway, trying to fix a bearing on this place.  Yet this day, I could observe the people, place and process of movement and re-unification of travelers, whether with family, colleagues or endlessly hawking cabbies, through a lens of familiarity. In the nearly two hours I waited, watching for O'Hare luggage tags of people exiting, listening to the cacophonous hum of many greeting voices, I also realized in my transitional state of mind that Dad would have relished this moment, this "adrenalous" excitement that comes of travel, the first step and breath of new places, as I do now, and did last year.

But reality, like a cold shower, comes quickly when the faucet is opened,  It was now time to change my focus to guiding this new adventure, not with six students as I had last year, but thirteen! In the bus ride to San Ramon, I could sense the student's excitement for this adventure, recalling the lens through which they were seeing this new place, and I could now appreciate the nuances of this place much like watching a movie the second time - you know the ending but still take pleasure in the evolving storyline.

Hot, tired, pleased,  I finished the day with a very cold shower, not by choice, but because the small electric heater affixed to the shower spigot did not work. A fitting metaphor for transition of my mind, body and spirit, now invigorated for a new purpose, guiding and harnessing the energy of my students.