I've got this wonderful, weird, amazing job that gives me a chance to travel fairly often. I'm very fortunate to be one of those annoying people who actually enjoys what I do for a living. Every job I take allows me to meet new people and develop close relationships with them. And it allows me the chance to get the feeling of "starting over" in a new city every few months. So trust me when I say that I'm used to packing my life up into a suitcase. To the feeling of sorting through my belongs to find the most necessary items, things to take with me to make me feel at home while I'm on the road. I know how to condense, how to conserve, and I know how to make myself cozy in a hotel room.
I've got my travel ritual down to a science. Starting with preparing my apartment for my absence. My parent's always insisted that we clean the house thoroughly anytime we were going to leave for an extended period of time, and I do the same thing now that I have my own place. I sweep the floors, vacuum, mop, was and dry every dish, and do load after load of laundry. The idea is that when I get back from my travels, that I'll have a spotless place to come home to.
But I always get a weird feeling the night before I'm about to go away. It comes to me when I've finished all my cleaning, packing and last minute drugstore runs. I curl up in my freshly washed sheets and wonder what it will be like to sleep in a bed other than my own for the next few weeks or months.Read More