I'm afraid that rather than returning to my comfort zone in 9 months, I'll trade comfort for discomfort again.
I'm afraid to pour my heart into my work because I know I'll grow to love it, only to be torn away in June.
I'm afraid that now I'll always miss the other side of the ocean.
I'm afraid that my world – which is spinning and moving along without me – will leave me behind.
Sometimes I'm afraid to admit that my world is not my home.
I'm most afraid, however, that all of my fears are rational and real.
Perhaps, by the time I'm called to leave, I'll have been prepared in such a way that these are no longer fears.
I'm afraid to wonder.