Approaching five weeks, I already feel as though I’m running out of time. The calendar suddenly feels much smaller when you think in terms of weekends rather than days or weeks. It then gets even smaller when measured against the ambitiously naïve list of destinations compiled at the outset of this adventure.
Where the heart leads, the wallet stubbornly remains. The dollar sign—or pound sign rather—looms hauntingly in the backdrop of every travel scheme. Energy, the only currency that matters, can be hard to find if one doesn’t know where to look. The fabled virtue of patience also seems to depreciate these days, while fear of the steadfast hourglass slowly grows with each grain of falling sand. If I’m not careful stress will soon settle in, and much like sand, stress will find its way into every crack of the human consciousness.
But I do feel my priorities shifting. I feel resigned to the unshakable truth that I will not see everything I want to see or visit every destination I wish to visit. The only comfort I get is from my own fervor to make every second count and confidence that I will be back. After all, there is not much else I can do.
I think that once the end of the semester arrives, everyone will have the initial conviction to come back and experience what they missed. The challenge is to not allow that conviction to pass into nostalgic regret—a veritable list of things “I should’ve done.” Ultimately, if one makes the most of every opportunity, then there is nothing more anyone can do.
