Trip #6

to Santa Barbara starts tomorrow. Six trips to that particular west as part of my school program -- a program that was ignited, really, by September 11th. So fitting that five years later I'm off to be a "student anchor" -- mentor, really -- to incoming students. They'll be all bright-eyed and bushy tailed and wanting to know how to speed through the program with great alacrity. And here I'll be, life still mostly unpacked by the experience, re-constructing before their eyes. Some of them will speed through, to be sure, though my OPS gang have taken our weaving way, only 3 or 4 of us having finished yet. (Though many many who started after us are fully Doctored and onto the next thing).

I'm okay with my pace, will convey my "your pace is your pace, everyone's is different, don't compare yourself" message, and most of all, will be so full of the ocean, time with Pamela, the interstice of sky and beach and sea and hills and sun that first brought me to life four and a half years ago. My place, the west coast.