I am a restless soul. I’ve always had a problem with geographic permanence. Even when I was young, I always wanted to be somewhere else. I was the kid who loved camp, vacations, sleepovers, and all forms of transportation. I loved my home and was very close to my family as a child, and I love my family and my home now, but I’ve had this restlessness for as long as I can remember. Did it spring from a love of languages and other cultures? From a fiction fixation and all the places I’ve visited on the pages of a globeful of authors? I think it’s more primordial, though, an innate itch that demands scratching at regular intervals. The novels and the linguistics add fuel to the fire, but they didn’t spark the flame.


I’m pretty sure it’s a character flaw somehow, and I’ve tried to “fix” it; I’ve even spent the last 23 years in the same city and the last 18 in the same house. But I get antsy, really antsy, and there are times when I feel I just have to go. Ideally, I go far and I go exotic – Tibet, Patagonia, Abu Dhabi, Iceland, Nepal – but if I don’t have time or money, I can settle for Houston, Denver, and Pittsburgh. I love any destination, but I also just want to pull out the bags, go to REI for gadgets and organizers, assemble my toiletries, stockpile reading material and music for a long flight, or ease into my 200,000-mile + SUV and hit the road. I often travel alone and I hate to admit it, but that’s the way I like it best sometimes. To get up early in a mountain hut on the trail to Everest and sit silently with my coffee at an icy window is a pleasure that I quite selfishly don’t want to share.

I’m sure I won’t have a travel story every time I add to this blog, but I’ve got a lot! I’m a pretty happy camper (literally), but there is some angst as well as excitement in always having one foot out the door. Come along for the trip as I take the second step …