When I travel, I generally squeeze as much as I can between that original departure flight and my final arrival back home.
If you’ve been following, you’ll know that so far on this trip I’ve gone via Los Angeles, through Belize to San Pedro, up to Toronto, across to Kelowna and now further west still to Vancouver. And that’s not even including the few days I had in Sydney to start with for Jemma’s wedding.
My base in Vancouver was in a house close to downtown. Six Australian friends now live there together with two babies (and another on the way), and openly welcomed me to join them for those two days.
Thank you guys.
Being in a house full of Australian accents, brimming with love and banter and everyday life in family reminded me so much of home.
I understand [to the measure I can] how lucky I am.
I get to travel the world and collect passport stamps like some people do coins. I’m able to connect with friends who have been in many and varied chapters of my life.
I am blessed with a job that allows me to adventure and still return there. And contrary to the majority of society these days, I love it. That workplace feels like home just as much as the town I grew up in.
I know people who have never seen the ocean before; I live within earshot of the Pacific.
Plus, I have a champion family. I adore them:
Maybe it’s that I’m getting older and wiser.
Maybe it’s that through these life experiences I continue to grow in gratitude of how good I have it.
It could be any number of factors.
Whatever it is – I am just about ready to come home.
I will keep searching out local golden spots – like, say, an indoor mall with a piano and basketball court. I will persist in my search for coffee on par with Australia’s (although that has yet to prove fruitful). I’ll stop to soak in the beauty of fall colours down Canadian streets.
I will continue to pack all I can into every day I’m given.
And I will hold on to the promise of a big big bear hug from Mumma and Daddy soon enough.