A few months ago I spent a night out in the city with new friends. At one point, the topic of the most exotic places we’d ever been in our lives came up. Some of these adventurous young folks had spent time in Southeast Asia, summers in Europe, or even a short skip down to the Caribbean.
What was the most exotic place I’d ever been?
Yep. About 35 miles from the northern border of New York state. They speak another language there, which makes it easily more exotic than anywhere else I’ve been. What are those places you might ask? Well there’s… Vancouver? Also… Toronto? Does Hawaii count? That’s way out there, but it’s still America.
Anyway, the reason I’m saying this is: all of that changes today. When this post goes up, I’ll be on a plane to Frankfurt, Germany, where I’ll be staying for 11 hours before I hop on another puddle-jumper down to Johannesburg, South Africa. That’s about as far from my homestead in California as one can possibly get while still on the surface of Earth.
This all came about through work last Monday, and it’s been such an odd time since then that I can’t even. I’m terrified, excited, apprehensive, gung-ho — 100% not ready, but there’s not a chance I will be.
What a way to start off 2015, eh?