I finally caved. I will be wearing a fanny pack to the airport.
My mother’s fanny pack was the height of my childhood embarrassment. At eight, I had already decided that the only good things to come out of the 90’s were me, my brother, and Chia Pets. It’s only when you find yourself frantically searching for your passport in the Bag of Holding (yes, really) that you realize there are worse things than having your most important documents strapped to your body. Like Funyuns. And having less than 24 hours to pack for a two-month world trip.
Well, not world. The Netherlands, Switzerland, and Ireland, if I’m lucky.
Which brings me to my second concession. I’ve started a travel blog (you’re looking at it), which will exist largely for the purposes of procrastinating and letting my mother know I’m not dead. I suppose there might be a few other things in there, too, depending on where I go.
I’m not quite sure where I’ll end up. But that’s okay. If there’s anything I’ve learned this year, it’s that you never quite know what’s ahead of you; the best you can do is take what you’ve been given, and go with it.