On a sudden whim this afternoon, we booked our non-refundable, one-way airline tickets to Milan. In nine weeks, we will fly out of the airport in Colorado Springs, where I have flown out so many times. And in nine weeks and one day, we will land in Milan. I am already anticipating the tears in my heart when I close the door to this house for the last time.

But also I am anticipating arriving in Italy and beginning a whole new life there, Jonathan and I together. Jonathan's friend Jennryn said to him the other day, "Ah, soon you will be sitting there with a glass of wine and a fistful of prosciutto!" We laughed and now hold that image as a beacon in our heads while we take camping gear and cookware to donate to the ARC in heavy boxes and bags.

And so I lead a schizophrenic life -- half of me trying to savor every last feeling and sound and smell and image from this world where I have lived so long and half of me lost in daydreams and visions of a new life far away. I can't wait to leave; I don't want to say good-bye.

And so without ever planning to do so today, we have bought our tickets. When torn or in doubt, I have always chosen to act rashly. I have no regrets.