Europe: Bad Start, Good Couchsurfer

Right now, I’m sitting in the apartment of my couchsurfing host, Aimee. I’m in Chicago; my flight leaves in less than ten hours. Also, I have a fever, a complete lack of energy, and a sneaking suspicion that I’m on the verge of a very bad cold.

Yesterday, when I arrived at the Chicago Greyhound station, I was feeling perky. In my usual fashion, I decided to ditch this sissy "take the subway" stuff and just hoof it over to Aimee's apartment (we had agreed to meet at 7:00). 

3.3 miles later, I was feeling a little hot and feverish, so I stopped and got frozen yogurt at a little shop just a block away from Aimee's. The yogurt was expensive but refreshing and delicious. I savored every last bite, then suddenly realized that I was feeling completely awful.

For a few minutes I just hunched over the table feeling nauseated, praying that God would make it go away. I had a few seconds of respite, and then the nausea kicked in, this time with a blinding fever and that dry feeling in my mouth just before I throw up. I wanted to ask if the restaurant had a restroom, but I was too dizzy to stand up. My hearing went away, and I could only hear sounds as if through water.

Om nom salad!

I prayed and I prayed and I promised God that I wouldn't try to walk with a backpack in the heat when I was sick anymore. I felt another brief respite, then stumbled out the door, where I sat down on a bench outside, near a trashcan in case I had to throw up. With a slight breeze on my face, I perked up almost immediately. Within a couple minutes, I was feeling well enough to walk down the block and up a flight of stairs to Aimee's house, where I met her with a cheerful smile. 

She was, as I suspected, a cool gal. She gave me a lot of helpful advice about Europe (she’s traveled a good portion of the world), not to mention fixing me a kale-beet-tomato-cucumber-pea-sprout-some-other-kind-of-super-green salad that gave me more nutrients in one serving than I’ve eaten all week.

Today, I woke up with a fever. Aimee fed me again, then headed off to work, leaving me with a spare key. I took a cool shower and now I’m trying to rest and let the fever run its course a bit before I head to the airport. Am I nervous? Yes, quite a lot. But I’m still determined to see this through. Europe, here I come!

~~~

Went to Chicago...

These are some of the last words I’ll type on my computer before packing it up. My 11:45 Greyhound will take me to Chicago (all things go, all things go), where I’ll spend the night. Tomorrow at 6:45, if all goes well, I will be on my plane ready to head to Europe.

This is the big one, folks!

None of this is sinking in.

Trips always seem a bit surreal, but this one especially because right now I have a mild flu of some sort. It’s attacked my muscles, mostly, giving me spasms, twitches, aches of all kinds, as well as making me about as sharp as a sack of wet mice. I pray that I’ll feel better by the time I get to Amsterdam.

Ready for the journey, readers? Hope I am too…

~~~

Travel Stories: My First Encounter with Mars Hill

It was September of 2010, and I strode down a street in Seattle under a monsoon-like rain (the first precipitation I had ever experienced in the city). I wore my hair braided into cute pigtails. Usually I dress to convey an image of confidence and power, but today was different, because I was not going to be wandering sketchy neighborhoods. I was headed to church. I wanted to look as cute, lost, and in need of free stuff as possible.

Mars Hill was my destination; I’d heard good things about them, and it was safe to say that the dress code would be relaxed. I’ve had way too many travel experiences where I was too intimidated by the Easter hats and three-piece suits to make it through the doorway.

Who needs feminine wiles when you can just be cute?

The past two weeks were rumbling around in the back of my head. I had been volunteering on a farm in rural Washington. The closest cell phone reception was a mile away, and the dial-up Internet was barely fast enough to run Gmail on its HTML setting. My hosts were Carl and Lorna: kind, passionate, knowledgeable, busy, flamingly liberal, and exuberant about life, nature, and their organic farm. My fellow workers were no less interesting, having volunteered everywhere from India to California. They loved food and social activism and ranting and singing, and we spent many hours in the blueberry fields and the kitchen, rubbing shoulders with each other’s worldviews. It had been a glorious two weeks of learning and cultural experience and broadening of my mind. Also, I had felt miserably alone.

Now I was back in Seattle for two days before heading to the next farm. I found Mars Hill, stilled my racing heart (I have major anxiety about walking into a new church), and sidled into the crowd in the foyer. I met a couple of friendly people, settled in for the service, enjoyed the sermon about Mary and Martha, and then listened as the pastor said that people up front to pray for anyone who wanted it. I casually thought that would be a good idea, so after the service, I headed in that direction.

As I waited for the “prayer woman” to be open, another one of the volunteers approached me and asked about praying for me. Upon my affirmative, he touched my arm encouragingly. “All right, what would you like me to pray about?”

I opened my mouth to tell him where I’d been, with a casual, “So please pray that I can be a light to the people I meet.” Instead, I began to bawl.

This completely took me off guard. I sobbed for a good five minutes before I could even choke out anything that was on my mind. The man waited patiently. When I finally was able to talk, I began babbling every prayer request I’d had for the past year. There were a lot. He listened. He prayed for me. He spoke some words of encouragement. Then he turned me over to the care of the woman I’d been headed for in the first place. She took me out to lunch for lentil soup at a little shop near the edge of the Pike Place Market.

By the time that was done, the sun had come out, pouring pure light onto the busker’s fair happening in the city. The woman and I said farewell and she gave my hands a squeeze before I returned to my travels, feeling a bit shaky, but ready to take on another two weeks of volunteering.

Travel reaches deep inside you and shakes you up. This is the reason you can’t travel to escape your problems. It makes you deal with your problems, often in a much more intense way than you would at home. Travel was a big part of my healing, and that day in Seattle was no exception.

~~~

Where to Go: Marin Headlands International Hostel

Zach chillin' in the common room

This hostel is not on my top five list, but it’s certainly one of the best locations I’ve ever visited, perched atop a hill on the wild slopes of California coast just across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco.

Why you should go: This hostel is the ideal place to relax, enjoy the scenery, and get some five-star views for a one-star price. 

How to get there: Ideally, use a car, but they also include bus directions on their website.

What to bring: In addition to your baggage and credit card, don’t forget a $10 cash key deposit, hiking gear, tasty food to cook, and a friendly attitude.

What to do: The hostel has a game room (ping pong, pool, and foosball), a large common room with no shortage of board games and books (as well as a piano), and a full kitchen. But that’s only for the evenings— spend your day out hiking in the picturesque countryside, losing yourself in the foggy hills or having a picnic by the ocean. There are hikes of varying difficulty levels, and lots of amazing views for not much effort.

What else you need to know: It’s not the most “happening” hostel in the world, but it’s clean, comfortable, and ideally located. Take a break from the hustle and bustle and enjoy some time on the California coast!

You can take "scenic photos" like this, too.

~~~

10 Photos of Cute Fuzzy Animals

I am not an animal maniac, nor I do not own a pet, but my heart still melts (and I still squee like a five-year-old) at the sight of a really cute fluffy animal. I’ve met many on my travels. Here are some of the cutest I’ve encountered.

Only dogs are capable of experiencing bliss with such intensity.

The San Diego Zoo has a collection of real-life teddy bears!

BAAAAAAAAAAA. When these Icelandic sheep galloped, their wool boinged up and down. It was cute.

When I saw Jack tucked in for bed, I nearly cried from adorableness overload.

What's not to love about a llama?

It's a panda cub. Oh my goodness...

In Utah I came across this horse. I like its coy expression.

Bunny! (Name: "Swiffer.") The redeye makes it look a bit creepy, but if you could've seen it in real life...

I found this mother and twin fawns on San Juan Island, Washington.

Handsome guy with fuzzy animal. Best thing ever.

Travel Tip Tuesdays: How to Ride the Greyhound

I want to ride the Greyhound because it’s cheap, but I’ve heard it’s really awful. What should I do?

"But won't I die the instant I step onboard?"

As I’ve said before, practically every person who’s ridden the Greyhound has a horror story. My cousin Alison said that she felt safer on the buses in the poorest districts in Guatemala. My friend Tyler felt like his life was in danger because of his seat-mate. No matter who you ask about Greyhound, they will usually get a panicked look and blurt out some terrifying tale about the bus system.

After that, who in the world would want to ride Greyhound? Well, me. (Guess how I’m getting to Chicago from St. Louis.)

The pros of Greyhound are this: It’s often really cheap, especially if you can buy two or three weeks in advance. It runs frequently to most destinations, allowing you more flexibility. And despite the horror stories, I’ve had a lot of really good experiences with it. The snobby isolation of an airplane is replaced with a kind of camaraderie between the people on the bus. People often share food, music, stories, and kind words. I remember seeing a man offer a granola bar to a woman with a fussy little girl. My seat-mate shared his music with me once. A man on a Greyhound prayed for me once. I offered my flashlight to a girl trying to read at night, and when she saw how tired I looked, she asked, with genuine concern, if I was all right. Despite the inconvenience and the rawness, I like the Greyhound.

If you decide to give this bus system a try, here are some tips to get you through.

Book a ride during the day, and leave yourself gobs of extra time. Being stranded at a bus stop at 4:30 in the morning sure gives you trust issues. I should have tried to catch the 3:40 bus instead (which was what I ended up doing). Greyhounds have a nasty habit of skipping smaller towns at the wee hours, so be sure you’re traveling at the peak time of the day. Have backup plans if the Greyhound doesn’t come, and assume that it will always be running about an hour late.

Greyhound doesn't have to be traumatic!

Dress for success. Wear comfy and well-worn clothes, forget the jewelry, and give up on trying to keep your hair and makeup looking good. Put all your valuables in a money belt or deep in your pockets. If you look like an ordinary Greyhound traveler, you will not have a target painted on your forehead… or your pockets. Bring earplugs, a sleeping mask, an inflatable pillow, an mp3 player with headphones, a really good book, or any combination of these to help you go to your happy place.

Come in expecting a “miserable” ride. More than likely, the bus will smell like urine, the people will smell even worse, you’ll be stuck with a fat seat-mate, and there will be multiple babies crying. That way, when you show up and the bus is practically empty, smells like air freshener, and has comfy leather seats with cup-holders and free wifi (they have new buses that feature all these amenities!), you’ll be pleasantly surprised. One way or the other, be at peace about your surroundings. Instead of recoiling in disgust, think about the people around you, or return to your aforementioned happy place.

Sit near the front. Although this is a noisier place to be, it’s also a lot safer. Greyhound drivers are tough and don’t take any nonsense, so if there’s going to be trouble, it will happen in the back of the bus. Put on your creeper-alert senses and try to sit next to someone wholesome.

Be confident. Put on your best “I totally do this every day” face. Learn the stops and layovers so you can be confident when they drop you off at a seemingly random station.  Be polite to the people around you, and very blunt if you need to be. Talk to the people around you to try to get a feel for their personalities. The less you isolate yourself, the safer you’ll be.

Be determined to enjoy the ride. Appreciating the Greyhound is all about attitude. My worst experiences have been awesome blog material, and my best experiences live in my memory with a kind of gritty magic. Be cautious but kind, look for ways to help the people around you, and live the adventure. You may be glad you did.

~~~

Have a travel question? Leave a comment and I’ll answer!

Mm, Graham Crackers!

I’m pretty good at denial. If something is stressing me out, or demanding my attention, or rapidly approaching a deadline, my mind adeptly heads it off, shuts it down, and ignores it.

After lunch today, I looked at my Europe to-do list. It’s still very long. It still contains items such as “Find a place to crash in Chicago the night before your flight,” “Book hostel for first night in Amsterdam,” and “Figure out where the heck you’re going from there.” Staring at the list, overwhelmed at everything that still needs to be done, I leaped into action: I ate a package of graham crackers and a glass of milk. I washed dishes. I considered honing my piano skills. I tried to start packing and only got as far as cleaning out the backpack. Finally I picked up a stack of Rick Steve’s books and lost myself on the Internet, searching for volunteer and couchsurfing hosts. I made some progress. 

I’m leaving for Chicago in one week. I’m leaving for Europe in one week and one day. Nine days from now, I will wake up and realize that I’m in Amsterdam.

Nope, still not registering. Time to eat more graham crackers.

~~~

Scintillating Prose

I have been quoted as saying, “It’s first draft. Why would I want to read it?” Even as I counsel high school students in crafting their prose, keep a regular blog, and do my freelance work, I am reminded of and humbled by the appalling state of my first drafts. Here’s a quote I came across today, reading my NaNoWriMo novel from 2011:

Peter grabbed the nearest heavy blunt object: a candlestick that rested tastefully upon a small end table until Peter seized it in his manly hand and hurled it across the room at Laranha. The heavy iron table setting flew through the air at a hurried rate— Peter had always been proud of his throwing arm.

Don’t you wish that all novels were written with this kind of mellifluous style?

~~~

10 Photos of Me Being a Model

Question: What are the first two words out of anyone’s mouth upon meeting me for the first time?

Answer: “You’re tall!” 

My response is automatic: I glance down at my 6’0” body as if seeing it for the first time, then say, “You should see the rest of my family.”

Some people are slightly more creative. From about my twelfth year on, people chose to  ask, “Do you play basketball?” They always looked so disappointed when I said no, as if I had somehow let them down. When I was about eighteen, however, I experienced an ego-boosting change in the standard question. People began asking, “Are you a model?” Although my face has always been one of the more volcanically active bodies in the solar system, people are awed by height. And they are also generally nice and won’t say, “You’d be a great model if you lost 50 pounds and got a skin graft on your face.” So in response to this question, I just whoosh my hair around my face, purse my lips petulantly (who even knows what that word means, anyway? I can’t even spell it), and whisper in a breezy voice, “No, but thank you.”

I’ve given the modeling gig a try, with my favorite photographer… me. Tell me I’m not ready for the cover of Vogue when you see these astounding snapshots!

First rule of modeling: messy hair is sexy. See how sexy it is?!

Duo modeling can be fun if you have the right partner.

Here I demonstrate the key points of modeling: pursed lips, angry expression, and Space Needle in background.

If you get your picture taken in Utah, it will look amazing no matter what.

Don't wear too much makeup— you don't want to appear painted.

When doing product placement, be sure you look natural. See how completely candid this picture appears?

Always look pensive even if you're just thinking about cookies.

Did I mention the messy hair? (Picturesque ocean in the background helps too.)

When you're a model, you have to look like you're angry at the world.

Finally, whenever you can model while doing something sporty, do it. Even if the javelin only flies a few feet.

Where to Go: Zion National Park

I had the privilege of visiting Zion National Park last year, and it was one of the highlights of my trip. From the canyon-bottom views of Weeping Rock to the triumphant lookout at Angels Landing, this park has something for everyone.

Why you should go: The Grand Canyon is breathtaking beyond all reason, but as far as I’m concerned, Zion Canyon is a close second. This natural wonder offers incredible views, beautiful and challenging hikes, and unique sites of landscape that can blow your mind.

How to get there: As with most places in the US, you need a car. You can find detailed driving directions on the website.

What to bring: Admission, good for one consecutive week, is $25 per vehicle unless you have a National Parks Pass. This is the desert, so bring an array of hats, sunblock, and more water than you think is possible to drink. No special hiking gear is required.

What to do: Grab a map, hop on the park’s free shuttle, and take a grand tour of the area before selecting a trail to hike. The trails come in all lengths and difficulty levels, and even some of the easy flat walks are breathtaking. If you are adventurous (and in really good shape), I highly recommend the Angels Landing trail.

What else you need to know: Allow a full day for hiking, take frequent breaks, and pace yourself. Dress in layers so you can keep your body at a comfortable temperature. Take advantage of the shuttle system to learn more about the park, rest, and regain your energy before attempting another hike. Take lots of photos— they’ll make great desktop backgrounds later!

~~~

Small Steps, Carrot Juice, and My Intermittent Annoyance with the Nature of Physicality

Today I succeeded at working myself up into yet another stress-frenzy. I wonder if this is going to happen every other day until I leave for Europe. I hope not. Maybe I should have eaten some protein for breakfast, instead of nuking myself with carrot juice and kale (delicious, healthy, blood-sugar-spiking). Too often, I am prey to the whims of my hormones, the confines of my animal nature, and the existence of my body.

Bodies… who needs 'em?

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Many people can’t stand their bodies, can’t stand being trapped in this hunk of meat day after day. I’m not like that most of the time, but when I find that what I have eaten for breakfast is the difference between having a breakdown and not, I get annoyed with my beastliness. Why can’t I just have the will of spirit to overcome the reality of my body?

Mind over matter works to a certain point, but the mind and body have to be somewhat agreeing with each other in order to function properly. Sometimes, I just need to eat some almonds and take a nap. When I wake up, things still look overwhelming, but not paralyzing. And it’s a lot easier to follow good advice when you have a hot meal in your stomach.

The planning continues. One little baby step at a time, it goes on.

~~~

Travel Tip Tuesdays: Dealing with Stress

Sometimes I wonder if I should keep up the persona of a strong travel woman who fearlessly ventures into any situation with absolute confidence. On days like yesterday, when I’m curled up on my bedroom floor crying, I don’t feel especially intrepid. I get stressed. I get overwhelmed. If I have too many details to handle, too many logistics to work out, I completely shut down.

Stress occurs when hiking with your sister, too.
Here we are hopelessly lost in the wilds of Washington.
Maybe.

So today, as someone who has struggled with this myself, I will ask (and attempt to answer) the question,

How do you deal with travel-planning stress?

Here are my best tips.

Know what makes you stressed. The more you know about your enemy, the better you’ll be able to fight it. If too much planning gets you crazy, take a break and force yourself to rest or do something else. If planning makes you less stressed because you’re getting something done, concentrate on that.

Focus on one thing at a time— or many. No, I’m not giving conflicting advice. Lists, schedules, and itineraries help prevent stress for most people, but other people stress out about trying to complete every item on their to-do chart. If you do best working on one thing at a time, don’t try to diversify. If you bog down on one thing, try starting several projects at once. Pick what works for you.

Do something physical to help your mental state. For me, taking a walk, listening to music or getting a backrub re-set my mind, helping me to breathe again and stop stressing. Try some yoga. Take a bubble bath. Get a friend to shake you out of your trip-planning world. Sometimes crying helps, too. Just saying.

Put things in perspective. The question, “So what?” is massively useful. If you take things out to their conclusion, they don’t sound as bad as they do at first. “My credit card might be stolen— so what?” Then I go learn about credit card liability, backup options, and anti-thievery methods. Name your fears, address them, plan for them, and don’t let them rule you. Also, the number one thing I have to remind myself is that a trip is to be enjoyed. Even if I’m stressed, I’m stressed over something good, which is so much better than worrying about something bad. Relax, keep planning, enjoy the good moments, and don’t keep too rigidly to schedule. In no time at all you’ll forget about stress and be smooth-sailing to your next destination!

(Now I’m going to go take my own advice.)

~~~

Travel Stories: Fledgeling

Reposted from October 10th, 2009

Bellingham, Washington

Yep, she's come a long way.

Today, I had work to do. My online students had piled up and I knew that I had to plow through them in a blaze of glory on my day off. It was a gorgeous day outside, but that describes almost every day here! So I decided it was time to buckle down and work.

My sister had no reason to stay in the hotel room with me, so she announced that she was headed off to Boulevard Park, which is about a ten-minute bus ride from here. "I'll be back at six," she said before grabbing her backpack, two bus tokens, and her wading shoes and heading out the door. I told her to have a good time.

Bellingham is generally a safe town, about as safe as my hometown. It has its bad neighborhoods, but they're fine for anyone during the day as long as one is careful. But even so, I had to focus hard on my students, focus hard on not worrying, and try to avoid thinking about all the terrible things that could happen to her. I think, for a few hours, I got a small touch of what parents must feel like all the time.

She came waltzing back in at 5:19, having spent time at the park drawing and watching the seagulls. I felt the weight of imagined responsibility lift from my shoulders, once again reminding myself that my sister is not so little anymore.

Still, it gave me an interesting perspective on children going off to do their own thing when so many dangerous situations are possible. How do parents stand it?

~~~

As I write this today, my sister living two thousand miles away in California, I smile. 

~~~

10 Photos of the Grand Canyon

I’m having a hard time writing a blog to follow the one I wrote yesterday. Anything after that just seems anticlimactic. Therefore, here are ten pictures from one of the seven natural wonders of the world. It can’t top yesterday’s blog, but it sure is awesome!

The Traveling Mandolin

I sit beside the fire and think

of all that I have seen,

of meadow-flowers and butterflies

In summers that have been; 

Of yellow leaves and gossamer

in autumns that there were,

with morning mist and silver sun

and wind upon my hair. 

I sit beside the fire and think

of how the world will be

when winter comes without a spring

that I shall ever see. 

For still there are so many things

that I have never seen:

in every wood in every spring

there is a different green. 

I sit beside the fire and think

of people long ago,

and people who will see a world

that I shall never know. 

But all the while I sit and think

of times there were before,

I listen for returning feet

and voices at the door.

~J.R.R. Tolkien

I have seen the sun rise and set over the Grand Canyon. I have stared for hours at the Atlantic to try to describe the molten-metal color of an ocean at midday. I have traveled the harsh Wyoming desert, strolled across the Golden Gate Bridge, slept in a Californian lighthouse, hiked through altitude snow in the Columbia Gorge, gazed at Mount Rainier against the Seattle skyline, touched a million-year-old petrified tree, and explored the Florida Everglades in the zenith of the moon among starlight and green fireflies.

Words are things I use to retell such events. I use words, I describe things, and they show up on my blog.

But how can I find words to describe the moment that someone loved me so much he promised to spend the rest of his life with me?

There are no pictures from that moment; my camera was dead. I couldn’t call anyone to tell them; we had no cell reception. I could only stand in the long grass on the banks of a small lake on a former farm in Bushnell, Illinois, away from the Cornerstone crowds and the blasting music, plastered in grime, sweat running down my legs in rivulets, hair frizzing in the humidity, arms covered in rashes and bug bites and sunburn and mud. I stared at the man on his knees in front of me as he opened the black velvet box and asked if I would be his wife. 

I nodded vigorously because I couldn’t speak. He slipped the rose-gold ring, adorned with a sapphire, onto my finger. A nuthatch honked cheerfully nearby. A great blue heron wheeled through the sky, disappearing over the tree line. Insects buzzed. Dust floated. Cirrus clouds painted the thin summer sky. I didn’t cry because I was in too much shock.

A truck lumbered by: a group of Cornerstone people on their way to a campsite. I turned, splayed my fingers, held them aloft, and screamed, “I’m engaged!” And in that moment, although I didn’t realize it until later, my entire world opened up.

God and I talk a lot. Most of you know this. Some of you think it’s stupid, but I can live with that. God and I had been talking a lot that particular week about a part of my life called travel.

You all know I love to travel. This is a travel blog, after all. I’m going to Europe in less than three weeks and will spend six weeks there and will tell you all about it. After that, I’m coming home. I’ll be staying home. Before I was engaged, no matter how much I fought against this feeling, it seemed a death toll. No more endless horizons, no more spur-of-the-moment trips, no more wandering, and no more people asking me, as an opener to any conversation, “Where are you headed next?”

I was walking along the lake at Cornerstone on the night of July 4th, talking to God about these things by the light of the full moon, wiping sweat off my face, half-distracted by the hardcore music echoing over the lake. I asked him to explain why I felt so torn, why my feet longed to wander when my heart longed for home. (I may have begun singing out my thoughts at this point. Other people do that, right? …Right?) As I sang, I began to realize some things about travel. I will always long to wander and explore. I never want to give up adventures, and I never want to settle down and be boring.

The problem was, I assumed that staying in one place would make me give up the adventure. And something clicked in my head.

This earth, this place we call home, is not. It is not a final resting place, it is not the place where we can truly settle down and grow our roots all the way to the core and experience the relief and joy of knowing that we’re truly Home. It’s a restless place, a place of wandering. I am reminded (as I often am) of a C.S. Lewis quote: “Our Father refreshes us on our journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home.”

Whether I like it or not, I (and you, and everybody else) am a traveler and will be until the day I die. If you ramble about in a gypsy wagon, you’re a traveler. If you live in Wheat Swamp, North Carolina and never leave your town in your entire life, you’re a traveler. Life is a journey, and this world, no matter what we try to make it, is not home. As with any trip, you can travel thoughtfully and with purpose, or you can blow through it as a tourist. As with any trip, it is good and natural to start longing for home, especially near the closing of the journey. As with any trip, at the end, you go home.

The comfort that this brought me was incredible. I stared at the dim row of trees off in the distance and thought, No matter where you are, every day is a new horizon.

Three days later, Zachary proposed and my world blew wide open. For so long my future has been a doorway, a glimmer of light through a hallway with a pleasant darkness on the other side. Without warning I stumbled through the door, and in that instant I saw that the future was as vast as the night sky: cosmic, star-spun, luminous, eternal. My trip to Europe— and every trip I’ve ever taken— was a soft hillock in the endless rolling landscape, dwarfed by the massive sky but not diminished by it. I stopped seeing my future life as a string of events, and started thinking of it as a whole.

I will never give up adventure, and I will never have to. I will stop taking as many trips, but I will never stop traveling. Within six months, I will have my own inn, to name “home” as a nod to the place I truly belong. I will be the lady of the house, and I just might grow some kale in a window box and decorate my living room. I will go grocery shopping and invite couchsurfers over and do laundry and love my husband. I will live and laugh and explore and encourage, and I will write with fervor and find eternity in a grain of sand.

I will continue to be, until the day I finish my journey,

The Traveling Mandolin

Travel Tip Tuesdays: Your Turn

What are your best travel tips?

"Take pictures outside of Disneyland so you can pretend you went there even though you didn't!"

~~~