Something about traveling stokes the embers of my soul like very few things do.
It's not even being in the new place, I know that much. I enjoy the packing, driving to the airport, getting the ticket, going through the security checks (ok, well maybe not that part of it), putting my clothes back on from the TSA strip search if I have a beard that trip, walking to the gate, sitting at the gate, sitting at the gate some more, getting on the flight, adjusting my knees to a comfortable area so they aren't pressed up against the seat in front of me when the person in said occupied seat leans back (they ALWAYS do), turning my headphones back on after the plane is in the air, watching the the little sim cities go by on the way to the destination, anticipating the landing, thanking God for a safe landing, waiting for the masses to exit the plane, walking out into a new city I've never seen before and walking around the terminal wondering just how many different places all these people are from.
I love the act of traveling more than actually being in the new place. It's strange. The best part of traveling with my football team back in college was the actual traveling. I mean, sure, the game was fun and winning was definitely nice. But it was the traveling that got me going.
Maybe I should do it more often.
That'd be nice.
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