I've been traveling for 8 years--every other week, a new location, a new destination, a new place, and new people. My friends used to ask me where I'd been, but soon--when all the travel stories turned to people stories--they just started asking me who'd I met. (And they could usually tell where I'd been by the accent I came home with. A week in the deep south will give ANYONE a drawl.)
The people I meet spark in me the thoughts which feed my soul. I've an insatiable curiosity when it comes to people--why they do what they do and think what they think. I'm always looking for a new perspective and peoples' opinions and experiences count. I learn from them: Dale, a cowboy poet who "senses" words; Mary Ann, an angel who shared a note of encouragement; a menage a trois des mots with Greg and Jim in the Minneapolis airport; Dean, who beamed me aboard his lightship, thereby bestowing upon me the title of Captain; Zamboni woman and Deb in San Francisco who spoke of a simpler life; Kevin the Microsoft digerati who's passion it is to link the world; Scott and Sheila in Iowa who are only one person away from knowing everyone; George, the marauder, who was livin' the moontime in a Widespread Field of Dreams; Robert, the "new Catholic."
These people, and their stories, have defined me and inspired me. Don't ask me where I've been. It was ALL beautiful. Ask me who I met...and I'll tell you a story...their story...our story.
Excerpt from the book
Barf Bag Wisdom: When What's Inside Must Come Out
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