Notes From a Globetrotter
Traveling is a bit like unzipping your skin and stepping out of everything you’ve ever known and into the world for the very first time. In the beginning, everything is new. Your skin is tender, your mind works hard to grasp different sounds and sensations and your eyes struggle to blink back the light.
But after a while the sounds fade, the light dims, the soles of your feet become thicker and your hands grow calluses. You have now the rarest of opportunities before you: to become undone and then reassembled into something better, something new.
As I crusade through the world on my own holy mission to reach a grail I have never seen or known, I am reborn again and again. I am an Egyptian priestess when I step onto Cairo’s dusty shore, I am a Prussian ruler as I sweep through Berlin, I am a medieval princess in Paris, and I am a Phoenician sea goddess as I sail onto Beirut’s shores.
Time has no bearing. There is only motion. I drift from one lifetime to the next ceaselessly and without trepidation with a bag on my back and my thumb outstretched, like an antenna to the stars. Because we are each allotted the gift of one exquisite lifetime, and the world is ours.