Over the past nine days, I’ve traveled thousands of miles.  I crossed international borders four times.  I touched land in four states.

I took hundreds of pictures.  I drank a dozen chai lattes.  I learned to make peace with convertible hair.  I bought books.  And wanted to buy more.  I ate fish and chips seaside.  I inhaled a taco salad on an Indian reservation.

I felt anonymous in the middle of great cities.  I imagined new lives along small harbors.

And after a final 30-hour push, I am home.

My adventures seem surreal now.  The fog of Saturday’s red-eye still lingers.  Three books and four baking mixes are all that I brought home.  Thank God for pictures–proof that these incredible experiences that now seem so distant, so foreign actually happened.

I will be gentle with myself today.  I am jet lagged.  My feet and legs are still sore from adventures on foot.  I still feel the rocking of the ferry from when we crossed the Straights.

There is so much I want to record and not just for posterity, but as a way to remember newly-made promises to myself.

As a way to preserve the resolve I found amidst tears from being too hungry, too tired, too exhausted from putting my needs last.

As a way to preserve the realization that my best self cannot be found in the best version of others.

As a way to preserve the sights, sounds, and feelings that led me to realize that while I can imagine 1,000 new lives in 100 new places, I am exactly where I need to be.

As a way to preserve the marvel that everything happens the way it is meant to.

But for now, a shower.







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