Apparently, it is considered poor form to start a blog, post a handful of items, and then abandon all further efforts. At least that’s what I’ve heard from friends, family, acquaintances, and a few random strangers from the internet.
It’s challenging to write a blog about traveling when you haven’t traveled in a while, though. For the past several months, I’ve been cocooning in my home town, working, having my kitchen remodeled, reveling in a sparkly new relationship, and just generally trying to survive the economic downturn with a positive (if acerbic) attitude. However, if my beloved friend over at Renegade Mothering can handle marriage, three children, and grad school and still find time to blog, I can certainly get off my butt and write a bit.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that–when I’m stuck in my daily gig–I always feel better if I have a trip to look forward to. So, after months of being immersed in the world of Not Traveling, I am plotting my next shenanigan. I might even blog about it.
But first, I have some unfinished business. Last year’s trip to Georgia was something special. I mean, every trip is special in its own way, but the chance to travel somewhere sooooooo far, so different, so unexpected was an amazing bit of luck.
After spending a month there, mostly working but doing a bit of exploring on the weekends, I had remembered some of my rusty college Russian, had an unfulfilled urge to see more of the country, and had been so intrigued by the people and the culture that I longed to go back. The chances of that? Remote, to say the least.
About 4 months after my assignment ended and I was happily esconced in my regularly scheduled life, I had a series of dreams three nights in a row. In each dream, I was back in Georgia. I was exploring Tbilisi, I was dining out, I was (ahem) at the office. Note I didn’t say these dreams were glamorous. Each time I woke up, feeling that odd, out-of-body confusion, taking a few moments to realize I was actually in California. (And a few moments of sheer disappointment when I did.)
On the fourth day, I got an email from the Georgia office. Could I come back? For another month?
Are you kidding me? I waited an hour to reply to the email, just so they didn’t think I was an overeager crazy freak and revoke the invitation.
And this time, it was even better.