It is hard to imagine things ever being better than this: me in pajamas and slippers with no socks, the days inching out of darkness and peach colored, both my parents still alive and our kids happy, my wife still young, the dog curled up by me napping, a pot of chili on the stove and no sound but the ticking of the clock, well-seasoned firewood and a good roof, me all checked in for my flight to Frankfurt and no work meetings until Friday.

What more could I ask of this life?

And if it all ended tomorrow and I went down in flames at least I’d have written this.

Categories: Errata, Travelogues

Tags: journal writing, Memoir, spirituality, travel