Travel, to me, is the great un-doer. It undoes all that is known to us. It asks us to free ourselves from the familiar, the usual, the rote. It asks us to trust that where we are and what we are experiencing will enrich us but only if we allow ourselves to be so enriched.
Five years ago this week, I left the rented room in Richmond, California that I had been living in for the past seven months, packed my couple suitcases and my two very vocal cats, and got in the car with my mom to drive down to Los Angeles.