On the Road Again

I have a cold. I'm sick. It's so annoying to get sick. It's such a waste of time. I don't see the advantage of it and I would prefer that it didn't happen to me. Illness is the mosquito of the human condition: it has absolutely no value. I think I got sick on the plane coming back from vacation, wedged into my seat in coach like a steer on the way to the slaughterhouse. I was obviously wedged in with someone who was already infected. Maybe this individual infected me on purpose. "If that guy reclines his seat one more time I'm going to cough in his ear."


Even though I got sick the trip was totally worth it. There is nothing as illuminating as travel. It feeds my soul in a way that I don't fully understand. I know that a big part of it is the anticipation of newness, the challenge of experiencing something for the first time. I never go anywhere more than once as a general rule. If I've seen it, I've seen it. If I haven't seen it, I want to see what it's all about. I spent the first 28 years of my life researching the ins and outs of life in a dark bar. I've got that down. I know what that's all about. I don't need to do that anymore.

I like the stress of travel, too. It makes me change. As a general rule I don't change unless I'm under some duress. It's a good sign if I want to get out of the trip the night before I leave. I want to think: "What the hell am I doing this for again?" I want the challenge of tackling a new experience.

I would prefer, however, to be returned to soundness of body.