When I was traveling though Europe I used to send big long e-mails to all of my friends. Some of them were even interesting. The point was, I wrote...a lot. My e-mails were long rambling accounts of things I'd encountered along the way. And then I stopped traveling...and therefore stopped writing.
Expect I didn't really stop traveling.
So, what I mean by that is I'm not on some long adventure living in a foreign country, instead I have a home, and a boyfriend, and 3 cats. So instead of one huge trip, I take multiple little trips regularly.
A traveler really can't stop traveling. Although I did try.
I bought a house. I kept one job for two years. I set up a retirement account.
But as usual, it didn't last.
The only difference was, I wasn't writing it all down. I never told the story about how I contrived to get a plot in Boston's Victory Gardens, and when I got it, it came with a duck we named Charlie. And I never mentioned my move to Boston and the three different houses I've lived in during the past year. Now that I think about it, I still owe Fitchburg some library books.
So who knows, maybe I can keep writing. Life is one big trip.
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