Sitting here in this strange but comfortable room, my head begins to spin and my eyes glaze over.
A seemingly random pile of various belongings clutter the floor in a half circle around me. Camera equipment, books, clothing, an array of medical supplies and snacks are strewn about the beige carpet.
Jo's soft steady breathing is a comfort, but my manic brain is envious of her slumber as it races to visualize how all the random piles around me will fit into my backpack, which appears smaller every time I look at it.
I have two piles of books, one is bigger than the other - a random collection of travel stories, a translation dictionary, sports novel and classic South American literature. The smaller pile only contains two options - an Argentine guide book and Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild.
I had started Krakauer's best seller previously, and while the tale of wilderness has little to do with my journey to "The Paris of South America," it was the title and the idea of leaving everything behind in search of the unknown that prompted me to make it a part of tomorrow's accessible carry on luggage.
As I prepare myself to board a plane bound for a new continent, my mind races with excitement and anticipation of the adventures and experiences that lie ahead.
But simultaneously, I can't help but feel a twinge of reminiscence creep into my head.
It was the last two weeks spent visiting with siblings, friends and loved ones that reminded me what we have here at home. It was the final phone calls to friends and family and the thank-yous for generous hospitality that brought the word home to the front of my mind.
Even for those of us seeking more - knowledge, experience, vision, vocabulary - who constantly crave the sight, sound and taste of what's out there and to live what others flip channels to find, home is always the same.
It is comfort. It is safety. It is warmth.
But most of all, it is love.
And in the end we know, home is that much sweeter after a long journey in a strange land.
- AC
A seemingly random pile of various belongings clutter the floor in a half circle around me. Camera equipment, books, clothing, an array of medical supplies and snacks are strewn about the beige carpet.
Jo's soft steady breathing is a comfort, but my manic brain is envious of her slumber as it races to visualize how all the random piles around me will fit into my backpack, which appears smaller every time I look at it.
I have two piles of books, one is bigger than the other - a random collection of travel stories, a translation dictionary, sports novel and classic South American literature. The smaller pile only contains two options - an Argentine guide book and Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild.
I had started Krakauer's best seller previously, and while the tale of wilderness has little to do with my journey to "The Paris of South America," it was the title and the idea of leaving everything behind in search of the unknown that prompted me to make it a part of tomorrow's accessible carry on luggage.
As I prepare myself to board a plane bound for a new continent, my mind races with excitement and anticipation of the adventures and experiences that lie ahead.
But simultaneously, I can't help but feel a twinge of reminiscence creep into my head.
It was the last two weeks spent visiting with siblings, friends and loved ones that reminded me what we have here at home. It was the final phone calls to friends and family and the thank-yous for generous hospitality that brought the word home to the front of my mind.
Even for those of us seeking more - knowledge, experience, vision, vocabulary - who constantly crave the sight, sound and taste of what's out there and to live what others flip channels to find, home is always the same.
It is comfort. It is safety. It is warmth.
But most of all, it is love.
And in the end we know, home is that much sweeter after a long journey in a strange land.
- AC
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