Pre-Embarkation Semester At Sea

Four months. Eleven Countries. One overweight suitcase. Here's what no one tells you about preparing for a voyage around the world.

It is currently 1 a.m. on Thursday, September 3rd, and inspiration has finally struck. 

While it was never really the plan to document this journey of being apart of Semester at Sea, as Alexa plays "crosswords" by Olivia Dean and piles of clothes line my floor, the least I could do is write something down before the stir-craziness sets in. 

In one corner sits my completely full water bottle, from which I have managed to take only two sips from all day. In the other, my Bible slowly collects dust as I fill my days with all sorts of busyness, often leaving me feeling a bit of guilt.

It is the kind of scene that makes me stop and think about where I was a couple months ago – and remember that I am truly living in a season of answered prayers. 

I got my acceptance into the Semester at Sea in early April, and as soon as I knew, the planning began. 

As a type A person who pretends to be type B, my version of preparation fell somewhere between a calm temperament and extremely detailed Excel spreadsheets tracking every penny I expected to spend. I had budgets, lists, and, naturally, plans for my plans. 

For a while, that was exactly how I imagined the months leading to the voyage would go: carefully planning, neat organization, and everything completely under my control.

The life, as it often does, had other plans.

I packed up and moved yet again, a little farther from home to Washington D.C. 

Spending the entire summer running around the Capitol brought its own joys. It reigniting a distant love for writing while also bringing its own challenges  — most notably, a serious lack of time. 

The busy days at work were followed by nightly excursions, as the tacos at Santa Rosa slowly became a staple. There were late-night conversations about Camus' absurdism, tears as we watched Abdul El-Sayed make history in the Michigan senate race, and cheers as we watched each other celebrate little achievements at work, all unfolding in our Georgetown living room.

None of it felt like procrastion at the time. I was simply living.

And maybe that was the problem — but it was exactly what I needed.

The days were long, the nights were short, and somewhere along the way, planning for the semester ahead took a backseat. 

Then, almost as quickly as it had started, summer was over.

I found myself back home with three weeks to spare  — and ten out of eleven countries still left to research. 

Rather than going to the library or searching online for attractions, I opted for the app that my generation looks to like a holy grail: YouTube. 

My nights soon ended with me falling asleep to current Semester at Sea students (SASers) giving advice about everything from packing more snacks  —  specifically nutella and hot cheetos of all things  — to breaking down the best tanning spots on the ship.

With every video came a new fun fact, a new corner of the ship to discover, or a new destination to add to my ever-expanding lists.

There was just one slight problem: time was running out.

Suddenly, I was rushing to prepare health documents and receiving numerous shots in the hopes that good times would find me before any illness did. I was applying for visas, assembling a new wardrobe for each destination —  because no one talks about how hard it is to pack lightly for 11 countries — downloading books, and watching Amazon deliveries continued to pile up at my doorstep.

Yet, somehow in the middle all of this chaos, I slowly started to realize this wasn't just something I have been planning for months anymore.

It's actually happening. 

For the entire entire summer, this voyage existed in future tense. 

And now I guess the future has somehow become next week. 

The YouTube videos I've been watching are about to become places I actually visit. The people who have shared advice about their journeys will soon be the ones I pass on the ship.  And the undoubtedly overweight suitcase sitting on my floor is no longer just another task on my page-filled to-do list.

 It's carrying the next four months of my life. 

As “Sure Been Good” by Elevation Worship slowly hums in the background, I can't help but feel at peace. 

For months, I have tried to prepare for every possible detail. I have made lists, tracked expenses, researched countries, watched videos, packed and repacked, trying to anticipate everything I might need.

But there are some things I simply can't plan for.

I dont know who I will meet. I dont know what will go wrong (hopefully not much). I dont know which places will change me or which moments I will one day tell my kids about.

And, honestly, I don't think I'm supposed to know.

Maybe it's music. Maybe it's the quiet at 1 a.m. Maybe it's the presence of God.  

Whatever it is, I'm slowly realizing I don't know everything  — and I'm sure I never will. 

And right now, I'm learning to be okay with that. 

I'm preparing for a journey that I've never taken before, and I'm not exactly sure what I'll need. But, there is something exciting about preparing for something you know will change you, even if you have no idea how. 

So, for now, I'm going to finish packing. 

I'm going to drink some water. 

Probably open my Bible. 

And then I'm going to exhale and trust that the rest will come. 

After all, it has already begun.