Thursday, February 7, 2008


For my birthday last year, my friend Kelsey gave me a travel journal. At the time I hadn't planned any trip just yet. I promised myself that if I booked a certain job I would travel to Europe.

For the next three months, before I found out about the job, I experienced an intense case of Wanderlust (such a wonderful word.) I would plan imaginary trips and itineraries and go through all the steps of booking a flight except for that last one.

And then, in time, I booked the job and then the flight.

I've always considered myself a "burrower." That is to say that when I go to a place I tend to like to settle down and make it my own. My roommate has always been more of a traveler than me. But once you catch a bout of Wanderlust it seems to be chronic. And its truly a magical sensation. You begin to realize the enormity of the Earth, the seemingly infinite possibilities, and the idea of having a real adventure. Or I did, anyway.

And now, as I sit in a rehearsal room in Laguna Beach, I'm coming down with another bad case of Wanderlust. And I've just (nearly) booked a flight to Sydney, Ecuador, Italy, and Japan.


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