San Francisco

The morning I left for Hong Kong, the car wouldn't start. We were already late and my family, miracle workers that they are, got it running just as I was starting to panic.

I was grabbing my bags and barreling toward the door when when my dad called, "Don't forget to say goodbye to the house." I raced back for a last lap through my room, the dining room, the kitchen. My parents had already sold the building I grew up in and, as I closed the door, I knew home would never be the same.

What I didn't fully realize was that, after so many months away, I wouldn't be the same either. Since I left, I've eaten pig brains, bargained for everything from peanuts to hotel rooms, taken bus journeys across the desert and the mountains, befriended an elephant, spent 45 days hiking in the Himalayas, seen the stars, seen the smog, and managed to have fun along the way. I never went more than two months without crossing an international border and I never remembered which side of the road people drove on (usually the middle, anyway).

After all those travels, I celebrated my first week back in my hometown by getting lost on a running route I've done dozens of times. But I found my way eventually and I'm so glad to be back--and even more grateful for the good times I've had on the road.

I've loved writing here, but it's time for me to take a break and try seeing a few old friends in person. Thanks for reading and safe travels, everyone!