Okay, guys, I’m about to feed you a slice of humble pie. And I’ll give you a fair warning: it probably won’t smell so great (like me in the photo above).
During the nine years I got to experience my Grandmother Bobbie on this earth, she flooded me with cards and notes full of love, encouragement, and a bit of enlightenment. About two weeks before I left for Australia, my stepmom plopped an old card down in front of me on the kitchen table. I recognized the fluid cursive writing on the front instantly.
I stepped onto my first solo flight to visit one of my best friends in Reno, Nevada when I was 18. Although I had been traveling around the country with my family nearly my entire life, this trip was different. I was going to spend five days in the west on a trip I had planned and packed for myself, which was blatantly obvious with my two FULL checked bags, one giant carry on “purse,” and an arm full of metal bangles because I was cool like that. When my stepmother asked me why in the hell I was packing so much, I replied with, “I get to be anyone I want to be.” By God, I packed enough to be seven different people every single day. She just shook her head and laughed, and rightfully so.