Leaving Home

When I buckled my seat belt on the first of three planes that would take me from Lincoln, Nebraska to Galway, Ireland, I felt like I had already accomplished a great deal.  Though my sabbatical was only just beginning, I had worked for months just to prepare to start the physical journey.

My biggest job was to prepare my house for my three renters, Mishayla, Sarah and Jenna, seniors at Nebraska Wesleyan who will call my house “home” this year.  I hired a contractor to put an egress window in my basement and build a wall to create a safe bedroom so each person could have her own room.  I started the process early, but the project wasn’t completed until four days before I left the country.  I also spent hours packing all my personal belongings; this allowed me to purge a great deal of clothing and other items.  I lost track of how many trips I took to The Good Neighbor Center and Goodwill.  Each time I left bags or boxes, I felt lighter and happier.  Even after all the drop-offs, I still have a basement full of bins and boxes that I will have to unpack when I return.

Finished egress window

Basement storage

As I reflected on the preparations for my first sabbatical (Florence, Italy 2004-2005), I noted some differences.  Though I attended to a lot of the same details, the mental, psychological and emotional preparation felt quite different.

Technology has advanced a great deal in the last seven years making it easier to stay in touch.  I find the prospect of Skype conversations and Internet in my apartment comforting as I leave my loved ones.  But technology doesn’t replace the impromptu conversations, lunches, dinners, dates and just being together sharing the little and big parts of each other’s lives on a regular basis.  I am looking forward to Skype “dates” with my boyfriend, but no one could argue it’s identical to being in the same room.

Last sabbatical, I worried about my house more than I did this time.  I also hated the thought of missing what was going on at work.  Thankfully, I have found my own experience of returning from Italy as well as years of watching faculty step back into their work lives comforting.  However, it is hard to consider missing the senior year of some students I have grown close to for two or three years; they only have one senior year. 

When I went to Italy I was completely, utterly alone.  While I wasn’t lonely, I had no one to rely on but myself.  Each time I left my apartment I triple-checked that I had my apartment keys.  In the beginning, I barely took a step that wasn’t charted on my Florence City map.  This time my boyfriend, Kevin, travelled with me to Galway and spent ten days helping me find and set up an apartment and learn the lay of the land.  I was able to relax and rely on someone else.  I speak the language here in Ireland and I did not in Italy (unless you call asking where the bathroom is and knowing how to order bread and red wine speaking the language), so the settling in was likely to be less anxiety-producing, but having Kevin with me made all the difference.