Pre-plane jitters

I leave for Korea in four days. 

And I have that sort of nervous feeling I imagine a dog has when he's found the perfect spot to go to the bathroom, but realizes other dogs are in the vicinity and he is, therefore, far too vulnerable to allow himself to let go, to release that which he was just moments before preparing to expel. 

It's a light feeling in my gut that leaves me not-so-securely rooted to the ground-floating. I don't know if that's because my body is helping me out, un-attaching itself from the sticky Tennessee clay, or if its the universe or God telling me that I'm making a huge mistake. 

Malia, Go back for the following reasons:

your Grandma is from Cocke co.

you went to college forty-five minutes down the road

you drink the same whiskey every football game

you sing Dolly Parton at Karaoke Night

Those pictures of Jesus in Renaissance paintings have him soft-featured, mouse-haired, and palepalepale. He'd wouldn't mind if I failed to hop on my plane at McGhee Tyson, failed to bounce through Hotlanta and out the other side to bow down to SMOE affiliates with an Anyonghaseo! But my Grandparents at Korean Church worship that white God. He beat out Buddha in Korea after America beat out China---at least partly. So it would appear that God/universe might care about my Korean soul search. 

God and the Universe aside, the bottom line is: when people meet me for the first time they ask, "Where are you from?"

And I say, "Here"

But that's not entirely true, is it? 

I know where I'm from. I know where my home is, I'm just not clear on how to live in it. No wait, I'm clear on how to live in it, (and I do, happily) but I'm not sure that it can't be better living. 

I better finish packing.