Let’s go to sleep in Paris, and wake up in Tokyo

The nesting phase continues.

I found an old map of the United States folded up and tucked away in one of my books. When I was in elementary school, it was pinned to my bedroom wall and there were tacks stuck in the places I wanted to visit at some point in my life. (I think I got the idea for this from some old movie starring Cher, believe it or not.)

Examining it now, roughly sixteen years later,  the edges are yellowing and the dozens of pinpricks look silly. Thankfully, I no longer draw inspiration for my life or my ambition from mutant Botox abusers, and my wanderlust-y goals are much higher. 

Even though the old map represents the naive boundaries of an eight year old brain, realizing that I've long since broken free of them is still a pretty amazing feeling.

Now I fully expect the limits my twenty four year old brain has set to be greatly exceeded in the coming years and, if I'm lucky, the coming months. Which means? It's the stars or bust. 

Also, totally un-related: Superbowl 2009! The winner? Brue Springsteen. The rockin'-est sixty year old in the house.