You may not believe it, but there are days when I wish I could climb out of the bath tub hot nights, days when one cobbled colonial street looks pretty much another and I’d be tempted to choose the familiarity of my own bed over another adventure.
There are days when I’m tired of 5am wake ups in crowded rooms, of my poor bunk bed banged head, of the effort of finding a friendly smile and listening to another set of introductions to people I will never see again. There are days when all I want is to stay still, rather than packing up my bags and getting on another bus.
It’s a strange truth that even being free to have whatever fun you like, can get to be a fatigue. We seem to lose ourselves in the regular and it seems that even the rough routine of all change, can kill a little of the magic of life brimming with new experiences.
But when I am tired of the broad sweeps of here and now and next, there is beauty in the details. There are small things that catch my eye, little pleasures that make me smile, tiny tremor shake me and wake me up again to all I have to be thankful for, to all that one day I will miss.
I’m thankful for:
the frivolous extravagance of french maid frilly pinnies over worn jeans on strong armed bus vendors.
the tame fluffy bunny that hopped home around my hostel.
the smell of clean clothes that I didn’t have to hand wash myself.
the almost miraculous double pleasures of hot water and water pressure in the shower.
the bumpy bus ride window that opened out to a beautiful rolling vista just as the sun set.
the laughing online chats that makes friends seem not so far away.
the absence of itch as some of my constellations of bites finally blink out.
the livid blue dragonfly that lingered as if just so as to be caught by my eye.
silly jokes with my travel family – the not-long-known people who somehow seem like old friends.
Sometimes it really is about the little things…