A few months back, after stepping off a sailboat from Colombia to Panama, I met a man in the coastal town of Portobelo. His name was Jack, and he ran a hostel there. Jack is in his sixties now. He has the air of a man at peace with himself.
First in Dublin, as I was heading out the door, an old teacher bought me dinner, appearing as he never had before. I met a man in Durham, also working on a dream. Not long after he took the leap. He’s now in Medellín. I met a girl in Amsterdam, and I can’t forget her eyes. We laughed and we kissed and we rode our bikes, beneath those clear Dutch skies.
People sometimes ask if I’m doing this trip around the world without airplanes because I dislike flying. But that’s not it. Few people appreciate flying as much as I do. Or airports. Like the one I’m in now, standing at arrivals, watching families and lovers reunite. They let their guard down for a few seconds, and you can see what really matters.