Bon Voyage?

I'm preparing for a trip to Morocco. This is, of course, exciting. It is also, for me, somewhat fraught because I have what can only be called "a history" with leaving for unknown places with no control over...well, anything beyond my response to whatever happens.

Is there something meaningful about the fact that all I know for certain about this trip is that I have to be at the airport on Tuesday? My flight number, time of departure and destination is all the information I have; no idea of where I'll be staying, how I'm going to get from the airport to whatever hotel has been chosen for me, what I'll be doing for the four days I'll be in Rabat. All of this feels familiar in the worst possible way—for reasons I've recently been writing about.

The timing is significant because what could be better for a memoirist than having to confront a dynamic that vibrates on an emotional level?

I plan on posting during the trip. Because the writing is, always, the way I work things out.