Saturday night I woke up convinced that I had made a huge mistake and that I should not go to Cork. I have never left my family for this long. I have never left my home for this long. I am seriously afraid that I will miss them and even the little minutia of my home.

What will making coffee be like? Where is the closest grocery store? How far is the walk to campus? Will the other faculty want to hang out all the time or is everyone going to stick to themselves? Will I want to hang out all the time or will I want to stick to myself?  Will the WiFi be fast enough? Will the WiFi be fast enough!?!?!?!

I keep having memories of when I went to college—the last time I lived away from home. It was fun and exciting, but I did miss my family and home. Having to get used to a damp bedroom, sharing a bathroom, far less closet space, all of those things were a nuisance and took some getting used to. This trip to Cork seems even more unknown since it is in another country. I guess it’s scary, too, because I can’t just leave if I change my mind…

My middle-of-the-night anxiety wasn’t about guilt in leaving them—at all—it was about desire. I enjoy hanging out with my family; once Mike comes back here I will miss having him in my bed. I will miss my mint plant. I will miss my ice maker.