Folks—
birthing is hard
and dying is mean
so get yourself a little loving
in between.
I love being married.
Yet the occasional pang of jealousy manifests itself when I hear of friends’ global exploits. France, Spain, Italy, Taiwan, England, Ireland, Greece, Ecuador, Israel, Honduras, India, New Zealand—in all these countries (and more) there currently resides at least one person knows Kristi Boyce. Provo is a great place and all, but if I had to choose between here and London? Well, you know.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to be where I’m at. How could I ever be ungrateful to live in a country with so many freedoms, in a state with so much natural beauty, in a city with such good people and in an area that feels like home?
However, my passion for travel is ravenous. I am a lover of the world, of people, of cultures, of landscapes. Of restaurants, of art, of music, and of the faint yet raging current that flows beneath each city, carrying its vibe. New York, fashion. Paris, love. Hong Kong, business. Seattle, music. Each new place you visit resuscitates something virgin within you, a part of your soul you hadn’t previously discovered, and upon inhaling it you can never be the same.
The prospect of world travel would be much more plausible if I had mommy and daddy to pay my way. Yes, that would be nice. But seeing as how such isn’t the case, I’ve found ways to appreciate the world I’ve been given.
I may not be chanting the Bhagavad-Gita in an Indian ashram, but I do pray every night within the walls of my own home.
I may not be studying art in Florence, but the other week Brock and I bought canvases at a local craft store and made paintings of our own.
I may not be volunteering in an Ecuadorian orphanage, but I do care for eighteen two-year olds in nursery at church each week.
I may not be strolling the avenues of Paris with my lover, but there were roses waiting for me on the dining table when I got home from work today.
In between: “a little loving.”
and dying is mean
so get yourself a little loving
in between.
I love being married.
Yet the occasional pang of jealousy manifests itself when I hear of friends’ global exploits. France, Spain, Italy, Taiwan, England, Ireland, Greece, Ecuador, Israel, Honduras, India, New Zealand—in all these countries (and more) there currently resides at least one person knows Kristi Boyce. Provo is a great place and all, but if I had to choose between here and London? Well, you know.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to be where I’m at. How could I ever be ungrateful to live in a country with so many freedoms, in a state with so much natural beauty, in a city with such good people and in an area that feels like home?
However, my passion for travel is ravenous. I am a lover of the world, of people, of cultures, of landscapes. Of restaurants, of art, of music, and of the faint yet raging current that flows beneath each city, carrying its vibe. New York, fashion. Paris, love. Hong Kong, business. Seattle, music. Each new place you visit resuscitates something virgin within you, a part of your soul you hadn’t previously discovered, and upon inhaling it you can never be the same.
The prospect of world travel would be much more plausible if I had mommy and daddy to pay my way. Yes, that would be nice. But seeing as how such isn’t the case, I’ve found ways to appreciate the world I’ve been given.
I may not be chanting the Bhagavad-Gita in an Indian ashram, but I do pray every night within the walls of my own home.
I may not be studying art in Florence, but the other week Brock and I bought canvases at a local craft store and made paintings of our own.
I may not be volunteering in an Ecuadorian orphanage, but I do care for eighteen two-year olds in nursery at church each week.
I may not be strolling the avenues of Paris with my lover, but there were roses waiting for me on the dining table when I got home from work today.
In between: “a little loving.”
Not “travel extensively” or “live in a foreign country for a few months.”
My world, though not as far-reaching as some of my peers, is just as fulfilling. Maybe someday I’ll see all the countries I daydream about. Or maybe I won’t. It doesn’t matter. I’ve found myself a little loving.
Why roam?
My world, though not as far-reaching as some of my peers, is just as fulfilling. Maybe someday I’ll see all the countries I daydream about. Or maybe I won’t. It doesn’t matter. I’ve found myself a little loving.
Why roam?
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