Leaving Well

At about 11PM the night before Lorena and I were to leave for six months in Ethiopia, it finally occurred to me just how unprepared I was.  I have never pretended to be much of a planner, but even for me this trip has been marked with an epic level of gross negligence in the preparation department.  Whether a frantic scramble to get my room cleaned out and bags packed just hours before our one-way flight from California or my last-minute pickup of critical medications for diseases you really don’t want to get, at every step I seemed to be, well, several steps behind.  But I had an excuse, and don’t regret it for a second.  Let me explain.

I accepted my position with The Carter Center in Ethiopia under the condition I could begin no earlier than the first of September because of the hectic Summer that lay before me.  Phil, the red-headed younger brother everyone wishes he had, was getting married on August 28th and I was to be the best man.  That meant planning the bachelor party, prepping the best man speech, and coordinating travel for Lorena and me from San Diego to NY and eventually to DC for our flight to Africa.   At work, it meant I had to transition my projects to new teams and ensure continuity, and then there were the seemingly endless tasks related to changing car insurance, closing and freezing accounts, subletting apartments, putting my stuff (aka “crap”) in storage, and saying “goodbye for now” at many farewell parties.  Of all these many tasks, the top priorities were the bachelor party and wedding because, well, you only get one shot to be a great best man and I have only one brother to make it happen for.

Flash forward to the morning of our flight, and I can proudly look back on a job well done.  Following an epic bourbon-inspired destination bachelor party in Lexington, Kentucky – truly one for the ages – the rehearsal dinner and wedding went off without a hitch.  If ever there was a perfect wedding, this was it, and luckily my best man speech seemed to add to the evening.  When it comes to best man speeches, there are three types: those that ruin or detract from the event (a big no no!), those that are forgettable, and those that help make the night.  I’m happy that I could help make the night in some small way, and with the speech over, it was on to the fun part of the night and, with the critical stuff behind me, the last minute frantic planning for Africa.

When I left for my rotation in Buenos Aires in 2006, I spent the weekend preceding the flight in DC at my cousin’s wedding.  There’s just something fitting about spending a day touring our nation’s capital before leaving for another, and after a day of touring DC this time I guess it’s becoming a small tradition.  The Dicello cousins gave us a great sendoff, and before I knew it Lo and I were airborne en route to Rome and Addis Ababa.  Fittingly, the flight path took us up the coast, past Montauk, Connecticut, and Cape Cod and the islands.  As I looked down, I found my thoughts drifting back to the many days I have spent crossing these waters in pursuit of striped bass, bluefish, and false albacore, and even more to the great friends who were onboard with me.  In Montauk, I remembered my best fishing buddy Pete learning about “building seas” for the first time..the hard way!  I looked to the Race off of Fisher’s Island and thought back to the nighttime fishing with eels that would bring so many big linesiders aboard.  I could see Woods Hole and remember Pete, Mike Apone and I bringing in two still-wriggling stripers to The Landfall Restaurant and having them prepared fresh for us while we drank cold beer.  A bit further out, and I could see Hyannis and the Monomoy Rips, where Captain Ron has guided our group for many years (see http://www.junkfishjournal.tv) to some of the best fishing on earth.  Then I gazed upon the curved tip of Provincetown, and thought back to the days with Captain James Shannon, full of bluefin tuna, humpback whales, and diving (and clawing, when you accidentally hook one!) gannets and shearwaters.

As the plane moved on, I couldn’t help but notice I was staring back, neck wrenched, not wanting to see the land disappear.  But with six months in Ethiopia ahead, I reminded myself that there is a lot to look forward to.  Willing myself to face forward, I took one last look, and, talking perhaps to the fish I have yet to catch, or to my many friends and family I’m leaving behind, or maybe, deep down, to myself, I said softly under my breath, “I’ll be back”.   If that isn’t leaving well, then I don’t know what is.

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