I remember when it was so easy to get dressed because my closet was a backpack and I only had four shirts. It was extra easy in Bolivia; I’d just get up and put on ALL of my clothes because it was freezing cold there.
That’s all I miss today about the World Race today, because when I’m sick, I just thank God that I have a bed, and a bathtub, and a tv, and a real keyboard to type on(all I had for eleven months was my tablet).
There are streets I picture and can’t remember what countries they were in.
There are some faces in my mind that I can’t remember where I was when I met them.
Any day when I wouldn’t bother with journaling, I’d tell myself “There’s no way I’ll forget this.”
But you do. You forget. You keep living, and you keep forgetting.
Today I was thinking about how sad it would be if your wedding day literally was the happiest day of your life. Why would you want to live fifty or sixty years and never have a happier day? That’s a depressing idea to me.
But don’t I do the same thing with the World Race?
Won’t it be awful if I never have a better year for the rest of my life? To have the best days of my life be over with before I’m halfway to fifty?
That’s just as sad isn’t it?
So I’m not going to let it come true.