Last week I “celebrated” the one-year anniversary of my cross-continental road trip’s conclusion. And by “celebrated,” I mean to say I cried multiple times by day’s end. No dramatic gasping wheezing weeping sessions, but I dabbed my eyes throughout the afternoon and evening as I looked back at some images from the road, including that final one of myself gazing over Charlotte’s sparkly skyline.
It was “supposed” to be the end of all my wandering. And by “supposed,” I mean to say that not even a year later, I hit the road once again.