Not a Travel Writer

A travel book, a magazine, an espresso, sliced mango, and a sliver of sunshine. That's how I start every day.
Not really. 
I wish. 

I love travel. The idea of travel. The word travel. It's tantalizing, enticing, full of promise like clinking, sparkling ice cubes in a fresh drink. I was going to be a travel writer. But you know, marriage, divorce, two kids, work, debt, house. Actually writing is too hard. 

So maybe I just travel. And leave it at that. Just enjoy traveling. The sweet fear of figuring everything out anew, the meandering, wandering, tripping insouciant through the hours. But you know, marriage, divorce, two kids, work, debt, house. Alas my life of prolific traveling has become just a smatter of traveling. I do not fret though. It's temporary I know. And already my children are getting to ripe travel ages themselves. We went to Germany and France a year ago and we triumphed.

So here's my new and best idea. I will be a travel reader. A perpetual travel reader who occasionally actually travels. And who occasionally may even write.  

Intrigued? Check out my travel reader ramblings on my other blog, Setting: travelreadingpackets.blogspot.com.