I am not immune to the risks of traveling to Pakistan. I've been involved in no less than five security briefings this week. While I understand the risks, my commitment to living a life free of fear and embracing adventure far outweighs any trepidation I may have. I mean, what white-bred chick off the farm gets the opportunity to get to Pakistan in their lifetimes?
Also, I remembered my friend Jean-Marc was in Pakistan this September, when the government had pretty much shut down the entire country (it's true; even British Airways wouldn't fly there) I was in East Timor at the time, skyping him. He was very much ok; and enjoyed his time there.
So, while I don't mean to be harsh or flip about the very real security risks, I do really wish people would stop acting like I'm going to die.
No less than five people came into my cube this afternoon to wish me well, remind me to be safe and, the more morbid ones, to say a final goodbye. While this is nice, being reminded over and over again that I might die is not.
I was trying to finish a ton of things, so by the time G. came by, I was at my wit's end with this lunacy.
G, marches into my cube, into my personal space without a warning: "Ok, give me a hug."
Me, eyeball deep in year end performance review crap that needed to be done for me to get my raise: "Mmmmmmmmm, huh?"
G, "Give me a hug. You're leaving."
Me, thinking quickly about how to get out of this: "Yeeeeeeeeah, how about I give you a hi-five? I don't really hug co-workers."
G, seeming hurt, "But, what if you don't come back? This could be our last hug."
(PS. G likes to hug. I don't).
Me, turning back to my spreadsheet, mumbling: "Well then, you'll just have to hug my corpse."
///////Morbid, yes. But I am still kind of laughing about it.