Two hours left in Berlin

It puzzles me, this mysterious lack of homesickness. I'm lying in a room full of eighteen smelly, snoring backpackers, trying to sleep because I have to travel the next day and if I could trade it all for my comfortable bed back home and a night out in good ol' faithful Minneapolis, I'd take the sleeping strangers anyday.

Maybe I'm just not there yet. Maybe I need to live another month away from home. Another month of uncertainty and long train rides and full hostels and bird shit in my hair. Another month of never knowing what day it is or where I'm going to be in the days and weeks to come. Another month of paying through the nose for an hour of Internet access and washing my clothes in a sink that's seen more vomit than it has soap. Maybe another month of that and I'll be ready.

I'll tell you a few things I really do miss though. I miss curling up in my bed on a Saturday morning with my iBook in my lap and last night's pictures on the screen. I miss not having to worry about my shit getting stolen when I sleep at night and walking down familiar roads at 3:00 a.m. feeling safe by myself because it's my city and I know these streets and we're friends. I miss my mom's cooking and my sister's babbling phone calls and long drives to mixed CDs. I miss orange juice in the refrigerator and running into old friends at rock and roll shows.

If I could pluck a select few of you from your houses and your jobs and steal you away my suitcase to forget Minneapolis and all the baggage we've created, I might never leave Europe. I could happily live the rest of my life in this place, nestled away in one of these cities, occasionally traveling back to the U.S. for weddings and holidays.

Something I've learned as a traveler these past five weeks is that I don't need very much to be okay. Right now, here in this hostel far away from my friends and my family and everything that I know, I'm happy. And maybe it's not even Europe that's made me that way, but it's the best theory I have so far.