Wednesday, March 9, 2011


in the Himalayas on the top after a long haul ~ I made it

I try to imagine what my life would be like if I hadn't traveled so much. Would I feel more content than I do in general? Would I have amassed more wealth or more self assuredness? Would I have more complacency and calm?

All I know is, every chapter of my life seems to be leading to the next trip, the next airplane, an infectious waiting and planning and waiting. I can't remember any trip I have taken coming to a close and me actually wanting to go home. I used to think this was a fault, something I needed to fix. Age has taught me that this is actually just who I am.

Oh the joy of being the foreigner and the stranger and no place in particular to go. Oh the joy of people so different and places so beautiful and ugly, of an escape from the frame of mind of a culture, any culture, that defines who I am supposed to be.

I can't wait. Andiamo.

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