My Journal

Prior to departure my Aunt Cathy, who babysat me as an infant and has always been one of the closest members of my extended family, gave me a journal to write in while I was here. She wrote a personal note in it and passed the journal around so that others could made an entry as well.

I never read it. I didn't need it yet and don't enjoy reading about myself. Most of all I knew a day would come when I did need it. That day was today.

Those who keep track of the blog know I've been struggling lately. I wouldn't call it homesickness, because I don't feel that I've ever had a home during my adult life. But I miss people, specific people I love as well as random easily replaceable people. It's been almost two weeks since I've had a face to face conversation with anyone. If I could talk to a random fool in an airport bar about college football for hour it would make my day, week, possibly month.

I've been reluctant to read the journal because the people who wrote it in believed I was doing something good and worthwhile, and I now know that whether what I am doing is good or worthwhile is a question great philosophers would struggle to answer definitively. Regardless, as I said, I needed something today, and it was on my shelf.

I blog too much, so most people have probably given up trying to keep up, but thank you to everybody back home, you all got me through the day. (just 400 or so more to go) I miss you all, whether we used to talk an hour a week on the phone or 5 minutes after church a few times a year.