It’s one of those semi-sweltering days in Denver, children playing basketball and tag in the street, an eerie orange sunset, hazed by Arizona smoke, dropping behind the rocky hills, and my nerves tightening just a little bit more.  In two days, we’ll be off, tracing the road line yellow 1049 miles to see family and friends in California before embarking on a much anticipated 17 hour flight to Thailand.  I’ve been waiting nearly 6 years for this trip, but the looming threat of a steal cylinder launching us across our world, worries me just slightly.

Departing never comes easy.  As big trips approach, I always feel a stronger sense of attachment to home, to the familiar, to the everyday conveniences of my routine.  I realize why travel stems from the word travail, “to toil, to labor.”  But if I wanted a vacation, well, my dear wife probably would have gone on to the other side of the world without me, and that would not suffice.

So we’ll pack our bags with a few luxuries, tuck our lives neatly into a safe deposit box, and wave a peaceful farewell, knowing this beautiful life will be here when we return from a beautiful trip.