Last night in Birmingham

There's definitely a feeling that goes along with traveling ... a feeling that always keeps you on your toes, even while asleep or daydreaming. It's kind of similar to daydreaming actually, because you don't really feel like you're in your own reality. It's as if you stepped into someone else's world for a while, a world belonging to some transient globetrotter ... some homeless backpacker who happens to have all of your memories and insecurities and habits.

I'm still trying to decide if I like this whole traveling business. Do I mind crashing on other people's couches, entrusting my fate to buses and trains, and hoarding bottled water like it's some sort of precious, magical serum? Does it bother me that I'm not sure where I will be sleeping in five days or that the three shirts I have in rotation are already becoming my three least favorite articles of clothing?

It's only been one week and already I've met more people than names I can remember and been sicker than I've been in a year. And I'm starting to learn a little bit about myself. For example, it's more important to me that I talk to strangers and make friends than it is for me to visit historical sites or shop for souvenirs. Sure, I'm interested in ancient buildings and exotic knickknacks, but so far the thoughts that keep me awake at night are about conversations with cute foreign boys and how in the hell I'm going to communicate with French people.

This trip seems to have evened itself out so far. For all the things that have gone wrong (laptop malfunctions, phone problems, uncontrollable vomiting, etc.), there are just as many things that have gone right (relaxing with Jo, falling in love with Germans, listening to my favorite music while England blurs past my train window, etc.) Even though I'm already out here and I'm doing exactly what I planned to do, I still have moments where the scariest thing I can think of is continuing on this path for eleven more weeks and I can't remember a time in my life when I've ever longed for my own bed more.

But man ... there is NOTHING like riding around a city that is in an entirely different hemisphere than the only one you've ever known for your entire life, or counting out change for an impatient cashier by flipping over every single coin to read its tiny, metallic inscription while trying to calculate its worth in dollars to make sure you're not being ripped off, or touching the walls of a castle and trying to remember the last time you felt something that was older than the United States of America, or noticing that the streetlamps here have orange bulbs and the cars are all smaller and the people dress better and the bartenders don't expect tips. I've never experienced experience like this before. It may sound hokey, but I've got no better way of putting it. There is no way to sleepwalk through this trip. I don't get to hit pause and I can't retreat to my bedroom for a mind-numbing game of Snood or a couple hours of surfing the Internet. It's beyond uncomfortable, but once it's over, that's what will have made it awesome. I guess I never thought I'd see the day where I force myself to do something largely for the purpose of BUILDING CHARACTER, but alas, here I am and I seem to be doing just that. I suppose it needed to be done somehow. And it doesn't really hurt that I'm enjoying myself in the process.