Traveling is like campari in that I mislike it, but am charmed by its bitter undertones and cannot seem to say no. So it is that I am leaving Philadelphia in a few hours, having spent most of my time sequestered in a hotel room, out for the occasional conference session, and at least once for a lovely dinner in Chinatown with Sarah.
Three times I tried to leave my room today, only to be dragged into a webinar, a conference call or drawn out proposal edits. Last year I pulled in another $8 million in contracts and grants, but the thirst for money is a lot like our thirst for gasoline. We built ourselves a bigger, hungrier engine is all we seemed to have accomplished. I want to slow life down, not accelerate. I want to enjoy this next decade and spend more time talking with people who matter to me, and writing letters, and running through moss kissed trails. None of these are extravagances.
No one responded to my messages about my father or half-sister. There is no shame in this, and no hard feelings. I surprised myself in even trying, and reaped an unanticipated reward that has me feeling light and wiser and unfinished.