I’ve been traveling a lot lately, which always tends to change you somehow. It may be simple as seeing a spontaneous standing ovation in the airport lounge on the way to Baltimore, as veterans from WWII emerged from the airway. It may be as complex as overhearing intimate conversations you’re not supposed to hear — what the baby likes to eat, when you’ll be home from your trip, who’s speaking in low tones to someone clearly not their spouse.
It may be as great as meeting people who show up to hear the written word spoken aloud in Phoenix, or just to see what you’re like, what your journey has been like as you set it down on paper. That’s pretty gratifying, too. But after a while, you get tired of the wheels spinning beneath your feet and you want to come home again, exhausted but happy, to see what you’re going to get up to next.
I don’t know what this is, this next path that will carry me forward. I have some idea, of course, but always like to stay open to suggestion. Most likely, I’ll keep writing a project I started a little while ago, maybe start writing a new play as well. The days will pass and I will travel more, meeting more people from different walks of life. And my life will be informed, and feel fuller and richer and just the slightest bit more human because of it. Did I mention that I love being alive?