This week is a potpourri of events. In between teaching and trying to get my desk cleared and the house tidy I have been out for sushi with a lovely friend, sat in the audience of a TV current affairs show, seen two films and I am only half way through the week.
Tonight I am catching up with another friend and on Thursday I am taking my car on a little trip up North to visit another good friend. It’s a busy week, but in a very good way, even if it means lack of sleep.
And all the while I have been reading a book written by a 50-year-old, single, female German journalist, who after winning half a million on the German “Who wants to be a millionaire?”, spent a year traveling the world, living one month in twelve very different cities. As I read I can’t help but feel a mixture of a little envy, some awe, excitement, a huge amount of “how can I make this happen?” and a lot of daydreaming.
I hope that maybe, just maybe, when I grow up I can embark on a similar adventure, and in the meantime I will try and make smaller dreams come true!
A journey is a person itself, no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing and coercion are fruitless. We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip, a trip takes us.