When I was about 25 years old, I taught at a high school which, due to attrition that year, had hired a number of new teachers, all single and about the same age. We did a lot of things together, something every weekend, and after the winter holidays, several of the young women teachers thought it would be interesting to take a trip, and the destination chosen was New Orleans. The organizers asked me to go, as one of the single teachers in the group and therefore unrestricted in any way. Of course I agreed, though in actuality I never planned to go. I hated flying, or at least the thought of it, because I'd never been on an airplane, and was terrified at the prospect. The trip talk was ongoing, plans were discussed, and I blithely went along with their inclusion of me. I had plenty of time to back out; any excuse would be accepted. No one would mind. January came and went, and one February morning I found myself aboard an airplane bound for The Big Easy. I remember being almost in a state of shock, finding it hard to believe that I'd gotten carried along with the flow. I'd never made a conscious decision to go, but I was on my way.
Here I am in a state of deja vu: what started out as a generalized survey of options has morphed into what appears to be a definite plan. Back then, I remember driving my car to a friend's house, picking up another person and riding to NYC. Even then, I had no vision of myself actually getting on a plane. I'm not sure how it happened, my memory is empty, no recall. I'm sure my friends didn't force me, so I guess I decided. Can't remember though. At present, I can project absolutely no mental image of my being in Troy on Tuesday. Somehow a plan of action sparked, ignited, and has swept me along in a firestorm. Funny, how things happen....
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