I’m sitting here this morning in the room I’ve lived in for five years. It’s a cozy little room in a cozy little neighborhood. Recently, every time I shut off the lights and head to bed, I think about how I will only be doing that 30 or 40 more times and it feels strange. I’m quite attached to this place and I’m sad that I have to give it up, but I have to. Unfortunately, there’s no way to have my cake and eat it too. I’m trading my home in for a backpack.
In 58 days I’ll be boarding a flight to Italy. It’s unbelievable that this trip is so close, since it’s existed in my mind as a fantasy for so long. I’ve been fascinated with other places since I was a 2 year old with a globe. But about seven years ago, as a college student, I read a book called Vagabonding by Rolf Potts. I don’t even remember much about it. Mainly it served to plant a seed in my head that such a trip was possible.
Then, after college ended five years ago, I was a fresh accounting graduate with no job, and I surfed the net looking at paid opportunities teaching English abroad. I probably could have done it then if I had the cojones, but I’m glad things worked out the way they did. I’m wiser, more confident, and more financially able now than I was then.
A year and a half ago I went through a breakup. We had a few differences, but one of them was the fact that I desired a trip like this and she just wasn’t interested. After that ended, I figured out how long it would take me to pay off my remaining college debt and save up for a nice long trip. A date was set. January 2016. Here we are, and other than the fact that I’m waiting until February, things are proceeding just as planned.
I’m very excited, but also I feel like right now I’m at Cedar Point, climbing the lift hill on the Magnum, bracing myself for the rough and sudden drop.