Item: assortment of postcards (Part II)

Now that I'm back safely, I can admit that I was worried about going to Morocco.  I had a bad feeling about the trip, for a variety of reasons.  I was having a hard time sleeping, fixating on suppose the plane doesn't make it across the water, and suppose my plans happen to intersect with Al Qaeda's, and getting more and more nervous about it.  If you think about it, there are hundreds of things that can go wrong at every moment:  at the airport, on the plane, in a hotel, on the street.

From the seat where I was sitting on the flight out of LA, I could see a piece of the plane, emblazoned with "Pratt & Whitney Dependable Engines" and a drawing of an eagle.  It seemed to symbolize a lot, because I can only hope that the engine is dependable.  I depend on it, and if it isn't, well, there's nothing I can do about it.  But this is true all the time; I don't know what made it seem to stand out just at this juncture.

The point is, though, that the minute I got to Morocco I was glad I was there.  Had I let the pit of my stomach make the decisions for me, I wouldn't have gone and I would have missed out on everything, on the rose petals and fountains and calls to prayer and Arabic stop signs, the camels, the palm trees, the mint tea.  Which makes me think:  what else is fear keeping me from?