The Ends of the Earth

"So I'm going to Patagonia." A friend of mine, familiar with my shopping habits, told me not to spend too much when I told her the news during a mid-day, bored-at-work Gchat conversation.

"But you went a couple grand into debt during your 6-month travels in Australia and Asia," I said. "You told me it was totally worth it, too!" That's when I realized she thought I meant the outdoors store in Georgetown.

No, this Patagonia is more than just a short walk away from my humble (decrepit) townhouse up on T Street. Far from our nation's capitol, Punta Arenas, where I'm 90% sure I will be assigned to teach English for the next few months, is the southernmost city in the world, located on the Strait of Magellan and near Tierra del Fuego and the arctic circle. If you have a minute, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Punta_Arenas.

As if buying my plane ticket wasn't official enough, last Friday, I handed in my resignation at work, my last day scheduled for July 10th (leaving me 10 days to move entirely out of Georgetown, and then turn around and pack my life into a suitcase and hop aboard a plane).

In any case, with Monday's imbezzler still at-large and my anxious co-worker having resigned on Wednesday, I thought I'd be walking into a mine-field. To my surprise, my decision was remarkably well-received and many of the women who I work with, most of whom are around my mother's age, offered much-appreciated encouragement and support of my decision to go and live my life before other responsibilities reared their ugly heads.

This, by the way, was contrary to the reaction of my own panic-stricken mother for whom no place, outside of my very-own childhood bedroom, is close enough to home. But who knows... depending on how broke I am after my frivolous year-of-travel, I may just end up right where she wants me.