Antsy

I am antsy. Again. I need to get on a plane soon, if I can find a way to afford it. Missing Jayne's wedding in the UK next weekend. Now trying to formulate a way to make it to Sweden for Martina's baby's baptism (I couldn't be more honored to have been asked to be Godmama) and maybe a wedding.

How is it that there is never enough time or money to get somewhere "old" to visit friends of somewhere "new" to stretch myself again, learn a new language, a new culture, a new pattern. I think how lucky I am, how grateful, to even have amassed 25 countries in my life. Yet, I can't help but have ants in my pants. Again.

I'm daydreaming about Costa Rica or India. Buenos Aires or Cairo. It feels like it's been four years since I've been anywhere NEW (2006 Kenya & Tanzania), but I have been to Switzerland, Denmark, Sweden, and Toronto. Those count, but they don't COUNT for some reason. Europe? Friends? Short plane ride north? Yet, there it is. Ants in the pants.

There are so many trips to make that don't involve passport stamps: weekend trips to visit friends and family that I love. Yet how do I get that to happen more regularly than it does? Why does life seem to gobble up the time I need for writing and traveling?

I'm daydreaming about Italy next year, about sitting on the Amalfi Coast, an area of Italy I always wanted to visit on previous trips. Maybe this time I will get there. Lounge and sip, eat and write. Now, to make it happen.