Standing on the sidewalk on Main Street, I heard Jan tell me one more time how important I am to everyone and what wonderful work I have done. And I thought, gee, it must be true! I never step back, I told her, and take a long view of what I do. It’s just this one casserole dish I’m making, this one student’s essay revision I’m guiding.

Leaving the country is a little like getting to attend one’s own funeral; the eulogies are kind and generous and funny. But it’s nice to be alive and present to say, “Thank you!” And, unlike a funeral, there are presents to open! Things I won’t find in China: cinnamon, dental floss, and, of course, toilet paper. Things I will be glad to have along: lavender soap, a pedicure kit, pretty bookplates. And things that will probably bring tears to my eyes when I unpack them over there: a photo album, a journal, a supply of heirloom tomato seeds. (I suppose the seeds will have to be packed secretly in the toe of a sock like contraband.)

I guess I really am going. I got a thick packet of orientation stuff today. Information. Instructions. I will need to get a chest X-Ray and hand carry the film into China. I will need a dozen extra passport photos. A dozen? Wow! Who knew? I will probably have access to e-mail over there. I will have a language tutor.

My relationship to time is more ambivalent than I can ever recall. I want to freeze the frame at that crowded dinner table tonight and look long and lovingly at the smiling faces of my friends. At the same time, I want to fast forward and plunge into the intriguing, terrifying, uncharted future.