Amsterdam

Late afternoon sun pours in through the glass walls of the airport concourse. I'm at the gate, waiting to get on a flight to Rome. Hoping that once I land in Rome, I'll be able to find a seat on the last flight of the night to Bari - and that it'll be somewhere in the region of affordable.

Still here

We were due to take off at 3.10pm from San Francisco for Amsterdam. At 2.45pm, they told us there were equipment problems on the plane that needed fixing. At 4.30pm, they told us it would be another hour to 90 minutes, but they couldn't let us off the plane, because it would take too long to re-board us.

At 5.30pm, they offloaded us.

Now, at 6.30pm, they've just called Business Class to board.

So I've missed my Amsterdam connection to Rome, and my flight from Rome to Bari.

in motion

Ticking things off the list is the most enormous satisfaction. It's 10pm - time to transfer everything to the flash drive, pack up, go home. Start on list number 2 - the Pre-Departure tasks.

I'm trying to reset my body to Italy time by not going to bed tonight (it's 6am right now in Italy). So that when I get on the plane tomorrow, I'll be ready to sleep almost all the way to Amsterdam.

only this one is mine

I'm in that day-before-travel funk of 600 things to do and I don't even know which to prioritize. I'm pissed off with myself for all the time I've wasted this week. I'm worried I'll make poor choices because I'm making them too fast. I hate myself for keeping other people waiting on info and decisions from me. The repeating soundtrack in my head is:

"Other touring artists are much more together than this.
Other people have their lives far better organized.
How can I do this if I don't have my infrastructure and systems down?"

In the midst of this, I get an email from my friend Pablo. He fervently recommends the poem, "This Is My Voice", on Shane Koyczan's Myspace. So I click on it and listen. It begins:

"This is my voice.
There are many like it
but only this one is mine."

The lines come from the first lesson of US military training. Army recruits are taught to chant:

"This is my gun. There are many like it, but only this one is mine."

until their gun becomes an extension of their body. Chilling.

I think:

"This is my life. There are many like it, but only this one is mine."

Amazing how that drops me into acceptance of the disorder, the backlog, the mess and frustration. I breathe into my belly, my shoulders drop two inches. I smile at my life, as I would at a mud-spattered child. I say to it:

"OK, love. Here we are. This is what we have. Let's stop fighting it and go from here."