75000 Miles

When I left the US last year, I had no real plan. That’s mostly because my wife plans, I carry the bags. I had more or less packed up and out of Venice in November. Covid was in full swing. Still is, I guess? I had been calling this year my “Sojourn Surf Sabbatical.” And it certainly was. I saw a lot. I surfed a lot. (And actually, against all odds, improved.) I had an nearly entirely positive experience. I had very, VERY few negative experiences. And almost all of those were largely operational/executional. (France, I’m looking at you.)

I had literally thousands of excellent-ranging-to-unbelieveably amazing experiences. I got to see things I’ve wanted to see my whole life. I went to places I’ve been and loved, and mostly to places I have never been and always wanted to go. I saw Bora Bora. I walked Paris at midnight on a full moon. I saw Cairo with a local and sailed on the Nile. I sat with gorillas in Uganda. I went on safari in Kenya. I surfed bucket list breaks in Indo. I could write a list of a hundred moments that were pure magic. I wrote most of a novel. It’s literally a couple chapters from being done. It’s absolutely trash and I love it so much. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had writing.

Seems as though there’s a looming “but” here, yeah? That’s because there is. And normally I don’t like “buts.” I like “Yes, ands.” I like “You don’t have to chooses” and “It’s probably something elses.”

But. Maybe this ”but” is a good “but?” I don’t know. The time off, away…it didn’t change me like I thought it could/would/should. I thought maybe…