DreadlockNomad: "If not for the last minute, nothing would get done."

April 27th: Date of Departure.

I made the decision to bring my final paper/ agricultural research project to reality February 27th - except without the help of grants as originally written. I purchased my ticket to Toronto on March 3rd. I figured it would be nice to go back to the city I love and visit people before heading out for a few years. I sat down and counted the number of days until my departure scheduled for April 27 . The checklist of items to do before then seemed relatively manageable with proper planning. After all, I am an experienced Project Manager - and since this is my life, it should be easier than managing people and tasks in a professional environment.
Not so much.
After making a list of tasks to prepare for this trip and tools needed during this trip, I decided on an online registry that could be linked easily into FaceBook. I created a Craigslist ad for the moving sale and put out the word to my immediate social circle of my project, my plan and my last day.

I started sifting through the boxes I hastily packed nearly a year ago after leaving my ex-husband. This was the first task I under-estimated. I had no idea it would take so long for me to make a decision on what to keep, what to give away, what to throw out, what to sell. Storage was not an option. No where to storage it, no money to pay for it and no interest in returning to retrieve it.

The second task was figuring out how many days I needed to dedicate to these tasks of sorting, compiling, delivering, selling, packing and re-packing. I made the mistake of thinking it was possible to maintain my current schedule, de-materialize my life and pack pertinent items into a 6000 cu.in backpack, a smaller day pack and a carry-on sized duffel bag AND still try to take on a few selected gigs for extra cash for the trip. Not at all wise.

6 hours before I planned to be on the Blue Line en route to O'Hare, I was wondering around on State street desperately seeking a small duffel bag to fit the books I couldnt cram into my giant backpack or smaller day pack. After 4 stores and 2 hours travel time via public transport from Garfield Park to the Loop - I still have to find homes for the remaining items that didn't fall into any category of: keep it, ship it, pitch it, sell it or donate it piles -AND- clean the apartment as well as say my good-byes to the landlord and return the keys.

In hindsight, this whole process would've been MUCH easier if I had good friends present to join me in the sorting and pitching process. When people have no emotional or sentimental attachment to possessions, it makes it that much easier to get rid of it. Somehow, I feel parting with most of what I owned would have been much easier, faster and efficient with friends present.

I had one friend in particular, who I aptly nicknamed, 'Pixie'. She has been ever-present during major times of need. Just like an angel during my time of need, she came by and helped me stay on schedule, through stuff out, pack stuff up, and clean my apartment - then whisked me off to the blue line. She was the only one there - while others who've called themselves my friends, said they'd show up at different times throughout the whole de-materializing and didn't. I had no time to track them down or follow up to ask why. Selfishness and flakiness couldn't make it on to my radar when I had so much left to do.

I left for the train having to ask my landlord to hold boxes for me that I intended to send to Canada to one of my best friends houses and one to Barbados for my cousin full of gifts, etc - but I ran out of time AND money to ship any of it.
I was officially an hour passed where my agenda had me on the train to O'Hare and Pixie is whisking me down the street to the blue line. As she pulls in front of the station, I leap out, strap up my giant backpack, grab my rolling day pack and swing my new duffel bag over my shoulder. I thank my dear friend for helping me pull off the impossible (again) and I am hauling ass down the ramp towards O'Hare bound train.
I am too exhausted to pay much attention to the stares I'm getting. But I could only imagine the sight of me with all these bags strapped to every available piece of my torso and limps. I finally get on the train and sit. Let out a deep sigh of relief and take a mental inventory of all I'm taking with me. I have my clothing and first aid in one pack, my electronics and notes in another and finally my books and reference stuff in the duffel bag. Then it hits me - I forgot my culinary and horticulture measurement tools in a suitcase carry-on in Pixie's car.
Damn it.
If I go back, I miss the plane.
It's too large/heavy to ship and I don't have the money for it.
$1500 in knives and $50 in measurement and other culinary tools. There is nothing I can think to do at the point, I have to stay focused. Relax for now and focus on getting on that plane.

Next, meet Danny B for drinks at the airport.
My sweet friend Daniel thought it would be sad for me to go to the airport alone, especially for such a big deal. So he skipped a class to see me off.
We had a half-baked plan to meet on the train. I would get on at my stop (Kedzie-Homan) and call him to let him know I boarded. He lived close enough to the Blue line that he could leave his house and get there before my train arrived at this station. The problem was I was supposed to be on the last train car, or count the number of cars I was from the front. Whoops.
In all my haste to make that train, racing down that ramp with all my packed weight, as soon as I saw the train and I heard the signal indicating "the doors are closing" - made the leap onto car with the doors closing a split second behind me.
I forgot to count the cars.

Again, I'm sure it was quite the sight for people to watch in wonder what the hell I was doing with all this luggage, running to the door every time the train stopped and doors open, me waving my arms wildly at Daniel who would leave one car and run up to the next at every stop. Eventually we were together on the same car and we made it to the airport.

At check-in, I weighed my bags individually. My massive pack was 46.7 lbs, my day pack was 42.3 lbs and my duffel bag was 33lbs. Daniel pointed out that I've been carrying over 100lbs on my person. I didn't care - I was more excited that I didn't have to pay overage for weight because I SWORE that huge backpack had to be about 72lbs.

Off to drinks, after borrowing one of those airport issued luggage carts, we rolled it and my two remaining carry-ons across the front lawn of the Hilton. We laughed at how ridiculous we must have looked doing so. We went in - found ourselves a quiet table in the corner and drank Greyhounds and Rum beverages. Since we seemed to have so much time on our hands (1.25 minutes) before I should go back and wait to board - we ordered food. Amazing how multiple vodka and rum-beverages make time fly. Before we knew it, what seemed like 25 minutes later - we were begging for the bill so I could run to the security gate because the plane was schedule to depart in 25 minutes. Daniel gave me a huge hug and bid me farewell, horrified that I was going to miss the last plane to Toronto and wouldn't be able to leave. I was too distracted at how touching it was to have someone value me and what I'm doing enough to sacrifice the time out of their day to be present. I had no idea how close we were cutting it until after I got out of the security section to see the plane is leaving in 7 minutes. Of course, the gate that I needed was literally 15 gates down the long corridor.
When I reach the gate, I saw the check-in airline dude slipping the lock on the door to the plane and brushing his hands in the universal sign of having been satisfied he completed a task. When he turns around and sees me standing and panting behind him - I couldn't figure out if I had just scared the shit out of him or if it was the look of a man to just realized he locked his keys in the car.
I ask, "Is that bad?" Referring to the fact he just engaged 3 locks on the door to where I was supposed to be.
He says, "I think its too late."
I say while looking him sternly in the eye, "Wrong answer - please check."
He worked quickly to disengage the latches and screams into a walkie that there is one more.

I get on the plane.
I can't remember if the person sitting beside me was male or female, young or old.
I couldn't tell you the ethnicity of the person or if there was anyone sitting beside me at all.

My last thoughts sitting on this plane on my way out of Chicago, that the last 3.5 weeks of sleeping 2-3 hours per night, working extra hours, taking on new clients and obsessing over every last detail was to get to this moment. I made it.
I was so grateful and so beyond exhausted - I was unconscious before the wheels of the plane left the runway.

Now I have permission to dream.