Once upon a time I had a normal life. I had my friends I saw all the time and homework and a normal job at a photography studio. I would travel more than the average person (my parents worked for various airlines, after all), but mostly visiting family, trips with my parents, college roadtrips, and daytrips up north to go hiking (I really just didn’t want to go to class). One summer in college everything changed and I have never been the same. I called a friend who was working in Juneau, Alaska and told him I would be there the next day. While there I made friends with his roommates and visited them a few months later. I visited a friend who had moved to Colorado and made friends with his friends and the pattern continued, grew, and took on a life of its own. I had become a nomad. I started living out of a suitcase and was out of town anytime I could get away. It’s not that I didn’t like being home, but rather my true nature was revealed and I couldn’t be still. I had to see what was out there, I had to move and live. I collected every new experience and memory with joy. Eventually it just became how I live and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
But maybe I’m wrong. There are a lot of large bugs in Alaska. Maybe one of them was a travel bug.