I woke up this morning in a hotel room feeling a little jetlagged. I was “home”—I got in late last night after my 3 week multi-city cross continent excursion. I put my room back together. It had been used as part of the Waldorf Hotel’s Halloween festivities (as one of the haunted hotel rooms) and needed a little rebuilding. Creating my tiny space again so I have a place to be still.
I’m good at traveling. I travel light and I’m good at waiting in airports, bus and train stations. I like talking to strangers. I’m adept at crossing borders. I’m not a picky eater. I can sleep almost anywhere and I pick up languages quickly. It’s being still that requires effort. Living in a hotel allows me the illusion of movement—lets me feel like I’m in transit even when I am in fact motionless. It provides a basis of balance.
I probably won’t live at “The Funnest Place on Earth” forever but for now it seems perfect—now I have build things and make some money!
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