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 levi’s left front pocket for safety. You hate to carry items you don’t need. Odds and ends make the trek heavier and clumsy.

Leaving Uruguay, en route to Costa Rica, our plane is thirty thousand feet up. We go 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 these days as “straight as the crow flies.” We are going from Montevideo to Lima to San Jose.

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

The best thing about transition is you are going to new places. The worst thing is you have to find a new bunkhouse, get unpacked, and invent yourself all over again.

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

Costa Rica is an old friend.

All I remember 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 the psychiatrist’s couch.

Lingering on the past, while barreling into the future, is a prescription for trouble.




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