I’m biting my nails and already stressing out about all the film, rain jackets, hiking boots, and things I need to acquire to get ready for this.
I cannot wait to get on that plane, with my passport safely tucked in a pocket, and take off and see the ocean far beneath me. I have not left this solid continent in 4 years, and it has been 4 years too long. I cannot wait to smell and hear and taste different air and sleep in unfamiliar places and have sore feet from poor footwear decisions. I cannot wait to see my beautiful sister experience these things for the first time, to see her face puzzle when all the different languages permeate around us, to see her realize that we are in a building from 900 years ago, and the stone floors of a church we are in has been walked on for centuries, and that there are people resting forever underneath the foundation. That the echo we hear in the hallways of buildings was heard by people back when the world was a dark place lit by candles, when most lives were short little blips, when plagues were real, when most people couldn’t read. We will see paintings made from eggs and look at things dead men left behind for us and walk around streets that are older than the nation we come from and we will also be silly and eat herring and odd dishes that fill our mouths with question marks and simultaneous delight. We will try out foreign words and mess them up but be better for trying, and we will meet people from all ends of the earth and revel with them for a time and remember that the world is indeed a small place, and that traveling is a renewal of ones faith in humanity.
I cannot wait. I am an anxious soul already and knowing that soon I’ll be somewhere else saturates my dreams and my days.