We're Off...

Tomorrow morning early, Ellie and I leave for Egypt. Or, in actual fact, we leave Friday for New York and Saturday for Cairo. So we're off into the wild blue. As I think I mentioned, I bought a mini computer with all the bells and whistles, so I hope to be able to continue our conversation along the way. On the other hand, I have never been to the Middle East before, and have no idea what to expect by way of the amenities we have come to expect here in the United States. I'm thinking particularly of Internet access. Even assuming I can get the access, I'm not sure what kind or quality of information will be available. Will all the newspapers be printed up in Arabic? Will we get only Al Jazeera on our hotel television sets? That would be a whole trip in itself! Will we even find television sets in our hotel rooms? What I'm thinking, Bush, is that even with access, this diary might well be morphing into something more like a travelogue from the land of the Pharaohs. Hope you won't mind.

Anyway, I imagine you'll be wondering how I'm feeling about flying off into the unknown, Bush. As is so often the case, the first impulse is to minimize the feelings: I hear myself say that I'm nervous, there's a wee bit of anxiety. But as you well know, nervousness and anxiety boil down in reality to one basic feeling: fear. And this particular fear is a three-part thing for me. The first part is the fear of not coming back--the fear that something terrible will happen along the way. Absurd, of course, but there it is. I wonder if you worry about this, Bush? I mean, I understand you're surrounded by security, and I'm sure that Air Force One is pretty much well maintained. But you'd have to be inhuman not to have these thoughts once in a while.

The second part has to do with being a stranger in a strange land. Not knowing the language, not knowing the people, not knowing the culture. The one thing I do know for sure is that there are people there who'll hate me for no better reason than my being an American. They wouldn't like me much better if I told them I was British. That's a sad thought, isn't Bush? I mean, really. And it does induce a certain reasonable paranoia--if that's not an oxymoron. The last part of the fear has simply to do with not being here at home. To watch over my belongings. To do my blog. To answer the telephone. To look after the dog. To look after my daughter. I know that neither of them really need me to look after them, so it has more to do with my need to be in control of everything, which is pretty sad in itself. Especially when I've been preaching for the past few days about the need to let it all go!

Still, it feels better to just put it out there. I find that once I get conscious of what's going on inside, it has less power over me. That's the key to everything, as I see it. Consciousness.

So listen, Bush, I'll hope to be in touch along the way. If you don't hear from me, it likely means that I just don't have the Internet access that I need. Or that I'm not getting time off for long enough from my tour to get signed on. Or that I'm getting lazy. Or distracted. Or that I got jet lag and overslept. Or that my computer went lost (God forbid!) or stolen. If any of that happens, forgive me. I'll be in touch again as soon as I get back. Meantime, wish me luck...