An Itinerant Month

Four countries

Nine airports

Fifteen cities

Three weeks

Four weeks ago, I turned in my master's thesis.  Now, I am sitting on that perfect screened porch in Georgia (my parents' screened porch) while movers pack up all their stuff (and mine, too) to move it to Virginia, and I can't for the life of me figure out where time went.  I have memories like a disorganized box of photos; every once in a while I try to sift through them and process a whirlwind month.

I've had to say multiple rounds of goodbyes, which are terrible bittersweet things, and this week I'll say more, only they'll be hello-goodbyes this time.  I really do feel like a wanderer now, going from house to house and city to city, getting more of a taste for travel and more of a desire for home, wherever that is.

In a last-ditch effort to take advantage of being located in Europe, and a celebration for completing a thesis that I sometimes doubted would ever end, I went to Scotland, Norway, and Iceland.  I expected Scotland would be great - and it was even better than I expected.  I thought Norway would be beautiful - and it was, but I was sick, (thanks, Scotland), so I didn't see much of it.  And I didn't know what to expect from Iceland - but it was absolutely spectacular.

the twisty, turreted streets of Edinburgh

quiet forests in Norway

good grief, Iceland, stop being so epic

It's time to put down roots again, which is always a chancy move, because you never know when you're going to have to pull them up.  Sometimes I think it would be better to stay in one place for the rest of my life, and sometimes I think I just shouldn't even make friends - but I always dismiss both of those options as equally impossible, even if I am a homebody prone to hermit-like behavior.

The Begending.