The pit has been forming for months now. It's a heavy weight, gnarled in a knot, and centered in my tummy. Some days I ignore it. Other days it beats in the background, urging me to stop and notice. The pit is persistent, twitchy and needy. In the pit there is love.

This week I'm leaving my family (Sophia, Alfie and Charlie) to carry out the legacy of Sharyn 'Bubbi' Mandel. I knew her for a solid 19 years of my life. I loved her deep and complicated soul completely. And now to recognize this love I have committed to jumping on a jet headed to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. I'm joining a crew of friends (and surrogate family) to travel to a country Bubbi would not have been caught dead in. Literally. If she were still alive, she wouldn't have let me go to this far flung place without one hellava ruckus. I guess that's the irony. Her dying wish to build a school for children who need it most has been realized. There's just a small catch. It's located in a place she rarely thought of and certainly would not have ventured to.

Back to the pit. I've been looking it over, trying to figure out what it is exactly. It came to me tonight. It's all sorts of love wound up real tight. In the pulsating core is my love for Bubbi. Losing her has been the hardest thing I've faced in my life. Since her death last September there has been a displacement of affection, attachment, respect and love. I realize these feelings won't disappear, rather they linger in the core of my pit. Surrounding the core is a thick, palpable love for my immediate friends and family--my homemade tribe of fajondilizers. Loving them is simply the best. Loving them is pure vulnerability. I'm taking my pit of love to Ethiopia. It feels like both a test and a journey to further appreciate my life and loves here and in the beyond.

So, here I go with a gulp, a mosquito net and my pit.