I’m beginning to realize that traveling makes you vulnerable. It not only pushes you outside of your comfort zone, it leaves you stranded there. To be quite frank, the idea of going 9,000 miles with my stuff either strapped to my back, or sitting in the bowels of an airplane is a bit unnerving. Really, I have no say in what happens to the bag that isn’t connected to me, I can only trust that it makes it. This entire trip is a bit like jumping off a cliff, and currently I’m just dangling my toes over the edge…something a bit like this:
but over this:
(That little blip is from an earlier adventure to Hawksbill Crag in Arkansas this summer, and specifically for your viewing pleasure.)
To continue, worrying does nothing more than increase the likelihood of my hair turning gray early on in life. In making the decision to travel I have also given up the control I imagine myself to have over my daily life, and in its place adopted a level of dependency that can be uncomfortable. At least, that’s where I think this is all heading. One example: I had to ask for help in getting to the airport this morning, when normally I am the one offering to drive others. So here I am, sitting at the airport. The challenge has begun.
Next stop: China.
See you on the other side…of the world.