Saturday May 3, 2014, afternoon; en route to Wrangell, aboard the AMHS MV Taku
In a few hours, I’ll be arriving in Wrangell, sight unseen, where I am to begin a new career in the public sector. I have wanted and worked towards a position like this for several years, so it feels like a dream come true, but it’s also very intimidating. I hope to love it—the job, the town—but I’m apprehensive that I’ll be crushingly disappointed, so I have tried to temper my expectations, though I probably won’t know for some time how well (or how poorly) I’ve succeeded.
This is an extraordinary feeling—equally exhilarating and terrifying—to be on my way to my new hometown, arriving with a car packed only with what I assume/hope will be what I need to get by for two weeks (clothes, a few dishes and utensils, some bedding and linens, some basic office supplies and a couple of books), my beloved sewing machine and the nearly as important coffeemaker, plus the super random stuff that surfaces during a house move (a travel mug I haven’t used in years, a box of handmade ornaments that I didn’t want to get lost in the shuffle, and a stack of family pictures.
Before we left Bellingham, my dad helped me select a fishing rod and reel for salmon fishing (he’ll break it in for me while I’m at work this week). The rod is the same goldenrod yellow as the standard Alaska state license plate—how fitting.
Also, a roll of toilet paper. I don’t know much about where I’m headed, but at least I’m prepared.