The beauty (and curse) of travel is that it leaves a hole in you, and nothing that fit that space before will ever fit again.
An expat friend once wrote that travel is followed by consequential heartbreaks. I didn’t understand what she meant.
After visiting Puerto Viejo for a week at the end of June – my first trip out of the US – I now understand.
Sometimes you reach a point in your life where what you have just isn’t enough. I’m a paralegal – a paper pusher, a grumpy court clerk wrangler, a screen starer-at-er. I thought this was what I wanted: the dress suits, the patent leather heels, the librarian glasses and the nice lunches paid for by attorneys.
I couldn’t be more bored. I couldn’t hate this any more than I do now that I’ve returned.
I’m told to be happy I even…
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