When I was growing up, we moved a lot. From preschool through college, I attended 16 institutions (insert your own mental health joke here). For most people that number is closer to five. I’ve lived all over Texas, in Florida, Mexico, and Sweden. Growing up, I never lived anywhere longer than three consecutive years. I got to be pretty good at choosing who I was going to befriend and developing that friendship. It was a sink or swim sort of thing, and I got in plenty of swim practice.
As an adult, I *never* wanted to move. I acquired massive amounts of stuff so that moving would be difficult. And now… I’m selling it all and starting an around the world trip. I’ve got really cool stuff, and part of me is sad to see it go, but I’d be insane to let this trip go, especially over things I bought on eBay.
I’ll be taking the Copper Canyon Rail, traveling down the Pacific Coast of Mexico, and then spending three months in Guatemala volunteering at a school for children who live on the streets. Then… I’m not sure. I’ll keep heading south, but I don’t have any set plans. And, it turns out, that’s the way I like it.
I’m taking one bag and starting over somewhere new, several somewheres actually. I won’t know anyone and I won’t have my creature comforts to return to. I’ll have to meet people when I arrive, introduce myself and make new friends. This is a challenge I both want and need, leaving me both terrified and thrilled.