I'll provide some more coherent thoughts tonight, but I've become consumed by wanderlust. The road is an incredible place to be. There is so much to see, so many to meet, so little time.
When most people think of comfort, they think of a steady job with a biweekly paycheck and a mortgage that is the unlucky result of a roof over their heads. They are plugging away at a career, saving up for that retirement bonus and that pension plan. They are calmed by knowing where they're going to sleep every night and where they're going to depart to in the morning. Comfort. Security. Safety.
Do we ever find comfort from discomfort? The illogical allure of chance and fate, providing the backdrop for discovery. That vulnerability, that exposure, brings out the best. Why is it that, sometimes, we feel most comfortable when we don't know what's going to happen next? When we have to rely on our wits and prior knowledge and common sense and spirit? When we decide to embrace adventure and the unknown and run with it?
Are there others out there like that?
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