On Saturday, God willing, we’ll touch down in South America, and I will set foot on my fourth continent in six months (also: 25 years.)
The weather forecast looks dismal and all of our plans are still up in the air and I seem to have the touchings of a bizarre skin rash on my right elbow and all of the other health problems that have made their presence known in my life over the past three years are flaring up too. But I’m sucking it up and packing my granola bars and resisting the urge the freak the f out, both because the freaking out did me absolutely no good last time I tried to pull this off, and because I know that when I get off that plane, Chelsea and Ben will be there beside me. And, while I still have very little faith in myself, I have faith in them and thus faith in us and I really do think it’s all going to turn out ok. Splendid, even. Maybe.
The only sure thing is that you’ll get to hear all about it upon my return. Until June 21, then, kids. See you on the other side of my insane travel aspirations.