Being in transition is being a traveler.

You have one suitcase with clothes and an extra pair of walking shoes. You have a carry on bag with computer stuff, headphones, extra pens and paper, schedules, an umbrella, toothbrush, personal items. Your wallet and passport are in your pants left front pocket for safety. You hate to carry items you don’t need because odds and ends make your trek heavier and less simple.

Leaving Uruguay, en route to Costa Rica, our plane is thirty thousand feet up. We fly west out of Uruguay, then up the coast of Chili with the Pacific in view, then cut back towards the Andes for a stop in Peru. There is no such thing as a flight,these days, that goes “straight as the crow flies.” 

Transit time is thinking time, sleeping time, re-charging time.

The best thing about transition is that I’m going to new places. The worst thing is that I have to find a new bunkhouse, get unpacked, and invent myself all over again.

Uruguay is in the rear view mirror and Costa Rica is dead ahead.

Costa Rica is an old friend.

All I have of Uruguay is what went on between my left and right ears and what I got down on paper. 

Wondering what this life all means is what other people do on their psychiatrist’s couch.

Lingering on the past, while barreling into the future,is what I don’t want to do too much of.

I like where I’ve been but I don’t want old places to spoil new places.

 

 

 

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