From my journal, 7-22-2013

I’m in a Houston originating plane, flying over what I imagine to no longer be Mexican airspace. I’m about to touch down in what I call from afar a crazy place–Guatemala–where memories dating as far back as 15 years stretch and future possibilities still shine like the lights of far below communities that appear like lava flows from this altitude.

I’m more prepared that I’ve ever been, feel better poised to reach further into the cloud of dreams that has been surrounded me ever since that flight to Chile six years ago.

I’ve learned to accept that sometimes these same clouds produce the pummeling storms, but for now, here I am, still surrounded, immersed and diving deeper. I’m giddily imagining the hugs and high fives I’ll be giving and getting this week from a diverse crew of people I have missed. Could I have known then, so may years ago, in third grade when I read sagas written by Kipling and Stevenson that this world of unbridled adventure could not only be attained, but that one day my life would feel apart of such dreams.

Like anyone, I’v despair and heartbreak and seen the worst faces of humanity too. I am no loner naive enough not to believe that these unwelcome visitors will not show their ugly butt-faces again. But for today, for this moment, things seem beautiful and in their place as this single jet caresses through the solitary night sky, above clouds covering the world.