Thinking of You

As I write this in the park next to my apartment, I’m outstretched on tree roots that stick out like fat Ents’ fingers. It’s strange that as I sit here in Spain, I’m thinking of you. How can I explain to you the beauty of this country and how content I am speaking Spanish with the waiter, circling the newspaper words I don’t know, and writing new phrases on my silly little “mapa de palabras nuevas”. I can’t, but I’ll try.

I am happy-- Really, really happy and really, really grateful. Mom and Dad, I could never thank you enough. I know that I’ve been all over the world this past year and I haven’t been home for more than a half of a breath. And now that I look back on it all, I feel embarrassed-- embarrassed to be so unbelievably lucky and embarrassed for not having shoveled more horse poop for you or something. I hope that all this traveling has made me a better person, more compassionate, grateful, and intelligent. I also sincerely hope that it has done something positive for you too.

Maybe saying this doesn’t really count for anything and maybe I should continue to feel guilty. I can understand that. But at least let me make you this promise: I’ll be home for Christmas and I mean I’ll be home for Christmas.