Take the A Bus, Transfer to the 42

Many years ago I took a trip to the jungle in Ecuador with Little Westside Jonny.  We were way, way back in the jungle and it was courtesy of kind of a sketchy outfit.  God love 'em they were trying but they just weren't very competent.  The first night we were trying to settle down a little bit, rats scurrying to and fro in the palm frond rafters of our jungle hut, seriously wondering if we were going to make it out alive.  Jonny was hyperventilating and in a misguided attempt to help him calm down I said: "Well, it's not like you can take a bus out of here."  The intent was to help us both make the best of the situation but he thought: "Holy shit, he's right - I can't take a bus out of here."

I woke up this morning in New Delhi feeling the same way.  The trip from vacation city was pretty exhausting - flights of 3 hours, then 10 hours, with a big 7 hour coup de grace, all in the spacious confines of coach class, which they now call "economy."  Why not just call it "cheap ass" or "jammed in?"  It's not like those brutalizers who design planes worry very much about hurting my feelings.  

I was sitting in my Quiet Time chair thinking: "Holy shit, what am I doing?"  Mind you everything is going fine - I have a tendency to be overwhelmed by the first couple of days of vacation, especially when I'm pushing my comfort zone a little bit.  I was close to hyperventilating.

I don't grow much unless I push myself sometimes.  I don't appreciate the ordinary until I'm in the extraordinary for a while.  I need to stretch out my metaphorical wings. 

Keep on pushing, straight ahead.