Out of Control

I generally try to avoid cliches, hackneyed phrases, complex metaphors and allegories in my writing (that is not to say that I'm very successful), but as I sit in the Vancouver airport watching the sunrise, I can't help but think, "Life is what happens when you're busy making plans."

This wasn't the plan. It never is, is it? The plan was to make casseroles, to scrapbook my photos, to clean out my closet, to sleep in every other day, to go for a jog in the morning and maybe even to get a puppy. The plan was to bore myself to motivation. The plan was to work and save and pay off debt and somehow fit in a visit to Nepal in between. The plan was somewhat unrealistic, but it was a plan.

And yet, here I am, at the airport again, where it always begins and and it never seems to end. My stomach is in knots and I'm exhausted, but I feel like I'm on the edge of something good. Because this time tomorrow, I'll be watching the sunrise in South America.

(And somehow, it all fits into the plan. It's just a different plan--30 countries before 30. Guyana is country number 20.)