All of our gadgets and tech unpacked when we got home!

I know what you’re thinking… didn’t you venture out into the world to get away from it all? Didn’t you successfully cut the electronic cord, shedding all the distractions to engage in daily debates, conversation and non-electrified noble pursuits? The short answer is, no! The behind-the-scenes reality of our journey, and the ability to leave home for a year, given educational priorities, career aspirations, visions of blogging grandeur and an obsession with photography demanded tools of the trade… times seven!

No one has ever accused us of traveling light, and the Trip Around the World kept our reputation intact. There was probably over 300 pounds of equipment that we carried and divided between our seven suitcases – all referred to as Troop Gear. Each time we moved locations, troop gear was assembled and divided up between each of us. This gear represented at least 50% of the weight carried across the world by us, including all of the technology, gadgets and the 35 pounds of text books the three older kids required to stay in educationally good graces. Most of it turned out to be useful; some not as necessary. Did we really need an electronic scale? No, Wescott, we probably did not. Did each member of our team need a personal iPad Mini? A resounding absolutely from all of us. Can you rely just on iPads, and leave your laptop behind? No, not if school work, travel booking, blogging and business planning are part of your agenda. Did everyone need their own camera? Maybe not, but the 80K + images will be with us forever!

For those of you contemplating a similar journey, here are a few tips from us:

Only have one cell phone with a US contract. We figured out half way through the trip that it was a lot more economical to buy a cell phone that you could swap out the SIM card in each country for a local phone number and plan. Skype was going to be our main go-to communication system to talk to people back home. However we realized that in many places, the WIFI just isn’t strong enough to support consistent connections. Lisa and I were fairly regularly on conference calls to places across the globe, and eventually we realized that having people call us on our local cell number was a much more reliable communications technology than relying on the Internet. In those first few months of travel, when we still relied on our AT&T iPhones for reliable connections, we had some horrendous cell bills!

Tech Check is Your Friend. While there were many things we probably didn’t get right on the trip, we did a great job at Tech Check, which we credit to coming home with all of the devices we left with. Almost every day that we would venture out into the village, city or countryside of the resident country, Lisa or I would yell the familiar “Tech Check!” call. That meant all iPads, computers, cameras, lenses, hard drives and phones needed to be collected and deposited into a designated suitcase, which was locked up. After a couple of countries, we realized that since all of our suitcases were cloth, it would be pretty easy to cut into our technology booty. So we ditched one of the bags and bought a hard suit case with built in locks, upgrading our security. Really tech check was more about keeping track of items and not leaving them scattered about for an easy poach than a highly secure vault; and the results kept us theft free for the entire year.

Be wary of Cellular Internet Service. When we arrived in Seville, Spain, we settled into our awesome apartment and reveled in the speed and power of the most awesome Internet service. With 7 iPads humming, YouTube videos, Skype calls and iTunes downloads abounded in the first 24 hours. And then, the pipe ran dry! Like a cripple trying to climb Everest, downloading an email took 10 minutes. The video player and Skype laughed at the mere click of intention. It was like cement was poured into the digital river of ones and zeroes keeping us connected. It tuned out that the house had a cellular modem, which only had 3 GB of data allocated a month. And, there was pretty much no way to get more bandwidth allocated! So much for productivity at the apartment. Wescott needed connectivity for online high school, and I was trying to speak to YouTube Creators around the globe. We spent a lot of time at a cafe in our neighborhood that offered unlimited WIFI. Actually, that turned out to work in our favor, as we met a wonderful friend named Julian, who took us under his wing for the 2 weeks we spent in Seville. We also ended up renting a room at local hostel in order to do Skype calls from midnight to 3 am, since the cafe was closed!

Sleeper Device that was Awesome: LED projector. On a whim, I purchased a tiny LED projector that measured 6″ x 5″ x 2.5″ so we could watch movies as a family. This turned out to be such a fun addition to the trip. We watched Khan Academy videos about art history, movies from iTunes and documentaries about a given location on whatever wall  that worked in our current home. We didn’t use it every week, but it turned out to be a fun event we all enjoyed, and I would definitely take it again.

Bring a Couple of External Hard Drives. We live in a data-intensive world. Our phones shoot HD video. Our cameras create large files for each image. When you’re traveling, pictures and videos eat gigabytes like a legion of ants defoliating a jungle. That GoPro camera you think would be fun to use? It is fun, but just that one device required 300GB of storage per country! Luckily, external hard drives are tiny, light and packed with storage. We used 3 individual terabyte drives to support the 3 computer hard drives on our laptops. Luckily, we had no major crashes; but we needed almost every ounce of storage space.

Online High School is a Really Deceiving Name. The University of Nebraska offered a great solution for Wescott to complete his sophomore year of high school while traveling around the globe through their online course offering. While assignments, projects and tests were submitted online, all of the course materials took the form of workbooks… 35 pounds of workbooks! Given our spotty Internet connections, good old print and paper remained a relevant technology that allowed for theoretically consistent studying… if only there was a solution for procrastination…then we may have been able to shed pounds sooner in the trip as Wescott completed each class!

For you shoppers out there, here is a list of the technology and devices we took across the globe:

• (7) Apple iPad Minis
• (4) MacBooks – we started with one 11-inch MacAir thinking we could all share, which lasted about a month before we realized that wouldn’t work; then added a 13-inch MacBook Air that Mouni brought to Vietnam for Wescott as he needed a dedicated machine for school; then added a MacBook Pro for Cliff when he traveled back to North America for work; then added our other MacBook from home when we got to Carmel for Otto to code!
• (6) cameras including a Leica film camera, a Cannon 5D SLR, (3) waterproof Lumix point and shoots, and a GoPro Hero 3
• (1) mini tripod (never used it!)
• (5) SLR lenses
• (5) iPods
• (2) iPhones
• (2) Samsung phone with local SIM cards
• (2) wireless keyboards for the iPads
• (1) electronic weigh scale
• (15) Apple charging cords
• (7) Binoculars for safari
• (3) Headphone splitters
• (14) sets of headphones, thinking we’d lose some, which amazingly, we didn’t!
• (1) Jambox speaker for dance parties and movie watching
• (1) Optoma LED mini projector
• (7) headlamps / flashlights
• (1) solar charger (never used it!)
• (3) USB Memory sticks
• (3) 1 Terabyte external hard drives
• (2) sets of International electrical adaptors
• (300) Kodak T-Max 100 B&W film
• (14) Workbooks for University of Nebraska
• (4) Math textbooks
• (1) Literature textbook

– Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

            I care about my shoes (although I probably would throw them out if they were moldy…that’s just flat out disgusting).  My shoes, my old, worn-out, navy-blue Lacostes, hold a special place in my heart.  When they were new, my mom begged me to wear them.  Now, ironically, she begs me to throw them away.  My mom bought them for me at the Nordstrom Rack one day and forced me to wear them: “I threw away your old ones and now you’re wearing these.”  In an act of rebellion – I mean, what’s up with an alligator on a shoe? – I made it a point to specifically wear the new shoes each and every time I went long boarding, which, for those of you who don’t know, entails your choice of footwear to slide and smash against the rough, hot pavement repeatedly. Little did I know, this would only make me more fond of them and for a mere twenty dollar pair of shoes, they sure could take a licking and keep on ticking.

Somehow those stubborn shoes withstood the test of time and wound up in my packed bag for Project Equator. Due to a greater distain for the other footwear I packed, I almost always ended up wearing these time-tested Lacostes. Where I went, so did they: up all 463 smooth marble steps of the Duomo in Florence, through the twelve-hundred year old cracked stone streets of the ancient Phaistos in Crete, over the scorching-hot, bright-orange dunes of the Sahara desert, across the wild African plains in the Serengeti, in and out of the dark, crammed Viet-Cong tunnels in Ho Chi Minh City, and practically everywhere else. I did this all unconsciously of course until one moment, which I can recall with a surprising amount of clarity — one moment in particular made me come around and realize their sentimentality.

As I walked ahead the rest of my family, I listened to the soft impact of my shoes against the dusty, granular pathway on a grey day in April. I thought about what returning to Mercer Island was going to be like, most likely inspired by the comforting overcast skies. I finally reached a venerable stone watchtower surrounded by sizable chunks of fragmented façade in this decidedly remote area of forest. Careful to test the integrity of the structure, I slowly leaned against the delicate wall and took in the stunning scenery: the Great Wall of China wound over hills and across mountain faces for as far as the eye could see.  My gaze drifted from this to the pathway from which I came, in an attempt to locate the rest of the family. I couldn’t see them quite yet, but my eyes focused on the pathway itself and honed in on the imprints in the dirt.  My footprint looked as though it belonged there, like the whole scene would not be complete without it.  I started thinking: have I been leaving this footprint everywhere?  It made me proud.  Proud that I had left my mark, a testament to my globe-trotting, albeit temporary and sometimes virtually invisible, in every single place we had been.

My gaze rhythmically followed my footsteps one by one and eventually fell upon my shoes: my shabby sneakers, bursting at the seams with gaping holes and fraying fabric, pattered with dust, but full of radiant memories.  Each gash, rupture, and tear embodied a snippet of Project Equator: the time I scaled a rock face in Santorini or when some crazy dogs attacked me in Chiang Mai or when I hiked a slippery gorge in Crete.  These shoes were my friends, I know it sounds weird but “practicality isn’t the whole thing with gloves or with anything else.”

Serendipitously, I recently encountered a new pair at Nordstrom Rack….so oddly foreign compared to my shoes

The airplane window is like a catalog: a big, glossy catalogue that flaunts it’s not easily attainable, but very desirable merchandise. Do you know what you fly over on a direct flight from Australia to San Francisco? I have no idea, but the views from the airplane window would blow your mind! Although, I would resist the urge to open that window shade and peek out onto the wondrous landscapes if I were you. Why? Because as soon as you do, your “Places to Go” list expands profoundly.

While the airplane window can mercilessly take advantage of those infected by the travel bug, if you need inspiration I encourage you to look. That’s right. Pause that okay movie that came out a couple of months ago and look out into the clouds, over the mountains, or into the ocean. During the very first flight of this trip I distinctly remember looking out the airplane window; hovering just below the cloud line, we appeared to be gliding across a puffy snow bank that went on and on for as far as the eye could see. The whole scene radiated a calming stillness: just our plane, us passengers, and a fluffy, impeccably white floor. The most amazing part though was out in the distance, on the horizon the sun set and exuded vibrant orange and pink hues. Of course, to the people below, the sun was simply lowering itself from a thick layer of clouds that had selfishly concealed it for the entirety of the day; however for us, and all of those above the clouds, the sun put on a magnificent early showing.

Today, on the last International flight of the trip, I sit here writing this post. The captain just announced the commencement of our landing in San Francisco and the flight attendant asks we put away all electronics. Time to browse the catalogue.

Nobody expected to get much out of Kaula Lumpur “the layover,” and we had nothing on the agenda other than to sleep off a persistent jet lag. The air possessed a thick, musty odor that reminded me of L.A. only fruitier. Our hotel’s appointed driver held a white piece of cardboard with “SHARPLES” penciled on the front. He was very accommodating, super-friendly and we were all having a great time until he blurted out, “Don’t worry. Be happy. I will not kidnap you.” What?! “Ok… Thank you?” I for one wasn’t worried about anyone kidnapping me until you just brought it up. Wow. What a great introduction to Kuala Lumpur that further solidified the idea that staying inside our hotel room for the duration of the visit would be a good idea.

Two hours in and my vow of silence stood strong. The hotel room, a massive, modern pad occupied by Jones, Otto, and I, looked right out onto the Petronas Twin Towers. The jet lag kicked in about an hour or two ago and I only now retained consciousness by staring out the window. Otto and I decided it was time for bed and began our nightly routine. For some reason, I felt like ordering warm milk beforehand, I’m not sure why but it just sounded really good. Since I could not speak, I scribbled on a piece of paper, “Can you call room service and order some warm milk please?” Otto, who almost always has my back, made the call.

Eight hours later I was chatting up a storm. Yeah, I know, my mom’s always right. My vow of silence amounted to a whopping twelve hours, and for eight of those twelve, I was asleep. Between the stunning views, that time when we didn’t get kidnapped, and the failed attempt at a vow of silence, Kuala Lumpur definitely proved itself as, not a layover, but a destination of Project Equator.

I used my vow of silence time to jam in a ton of school work, next to the pool

Arusha, Tanzania.  I never knew when these shocking moments would hit. At around ten that morning, I groggily stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom: a crucial part of my daily routine. The shower always represented a place to unwind, relax, and mentally prepare myself for the upcoming day, and in Arusha, Tanzania specifically, the nozzle represented no danger what so ever, however today I was in for a rude awakening. I falsely felt a sense of safety as I took a luxuriously hot shower.  As I thoroughly rinsed the remainder of shampoo from my hair and finished up, I reached down for the metallic lever to switch the shower off.  As soon as my hands made contact:  ZAP!  Volts of galvanizing electricity violently made their way through every fiber of my body.  As you probably know: wet person plus electricity equals not good. I shook up and down with my hair standing on end like a cartoon character.  In the midst of this involuntary spasm, my hand bumped against the lever once again and doubled the pain, and doubled my distrust in showers from now on. Ever since that experience, I now do a little poke test on metallic levers with the tip of my index finger prior to dampening myself. I stepped into that bathroom a tired, naive, and unprepared zombie, but left a shocked piece of toast who couldn’t feel more awake.

Yangshuo, China.  We entered the substantially sized grocery store with an equally big grocery list: eggs, fruit, vegetables, milk, and the other usual items needed to accommodate the maximum impact family.  My mom and I looked around puzzled.  Neither of us could read Chinese, but by first glance everything appeared wrapped in shiny, vivaciously colored, plastic wrappers.  We circled the store while scrutinizing the merchandize; the entire “supermarket” contained nothing more than various packages of gummies, candy bars, and other highly processed goods.  Just to be clear: this isn’t some random candy store, our house manager specifically told us that this is the supermarket.  We walked in to that store expecting to leave with food, but left with a full grocery list and a greater gratefulness for the supermarket a short walk from our house back home that carries dairy, meat, fruit, vegetables, and everything else.

Ubud, Bali. The inconsistency of plugs frustrated me from day one.  Why does everybody insist on using different shapes?  We carry a bag of adaptors with us at all times because you never know if the plugs in the next country will be shaped like a guy with a surprised face (the US plug), a sad face (Australia), a mad face (Tanzania), or any other expression you can think of.  In Bali, the outlets only accept double pronged, cylindrical plugs.  As I fiddled with various adaptors seeing which one would fit into the holes like solving some jigsaw puzzle, my hands frequently made contact with the metal prongs. Sure enough:  ZAP!  I successfully tapped into the electricity, inaccessible with United States plugs, with my hand. Albeit, the shock did not hurt as much as the shower escapade in Arusha, but that is not saying much.  I plugged in with a mild perturbation of using adaptors to charge my iPad, but unplugged my body with a mild fear of using adaptors to charge my iPad.

Bagamoyo, Tanzania. I anxiously awaited with my hand under the shower nozzle for the water to turn from freezing cold to an amiable temperature. Thirty seconds went by, then a minute, then three: the water pressure began to dwindle and the temperature stayed at a constant fifty degrees (Fahrenheit). I finally just stepped in and took the excruciatingly cold water like a man, but only for another minute or so, because after that, the water went from a drizzle to a drip-drip-nothing. That was the second worst shower of my entire life. I turned the shower on expecting hot water and the pressure of at least a squirt gun, but the cold stream shortly died out along with my misconception that showers are only warm and soothing.

Koh Tao, Thailand. Fizz stood a favorite restaurant of mine in Koh Tao, Thailand until the third visit. We all fell in love with the cafe ever since the first night: eating healthy, delicious, pomegranate salad and watching the exotic sunset with the tropical Thai beach in the foreground. The second time at Fizz, we lounged in beanbags on the soft sand, sipped on extravagant cocktails (virgin of course), and listened to their DJ lay down some original drumbeats. The third visit to Fizz, I planned on sitting in the corner, eating some fresh lunch, and working on Biology while my family walked around the island… but not everything goes according to plan. I unpacked my bag at the table and plugged in my rubber, white power cord into the outlet nearby  (a US plug, I couldn’t believe it.)  I nonchalantly picked up the end of the charger to begin charging my device and ZAP!  The doohicky that magnetizes itself inside the computer sent a volatile shock throughout my whole body. I somehow plugged the possessed cord in, but my whole body shuttered and a tingle went up and down my spine. I stared at my dad and started stammering, “Dad, DuDad, Dad!”

He stopped walking away, “What’s the matter?”

“The stupid cord shocked me when I picked it up!”

He responded with, “Did you touch the end of it?”

“Yes,” I tentatively replied.

“That happens to me all of the time, it’s fine.” He seemed unconcerned.

I touched my index finger to the smooth, metallic trackpad and ZAP!  Again.  Now, I not only felt scared and shocked, but angry at Dad who convinced me to shock myself again.  I frantically looked up at him and blurted out, “It shocked me again! It really hurt.”  He walked over (at a pretty slow pace I might add) and touched the computer: ZAP!  Sweet revenge. “Let’s find a different cafe,” he suggested with an anxious look in his eye. I walked into Fizz expecting to get a tranquil view, a healthy plate of salad, and a good amount of work done, but left with the bottle of water I ordered and a newfangled cautiousness when handling my power cord.

Zanzibar, Tanzania. Zanzibar opened my eyes in many ways, but perhaps the most significant shocker occurred when my grandfather, dad, brother, and I visited Kingey’s home… our driver from Crazy Mzungos.  We made our way out of a small street market and turned onto a bumpy, dirt road.  Houses, comprised of scrap metal, cardboard, and cement surrounded us, along with a herd of stray cows, palm trees, and a group of local kids playing soccer with a scrappy ball of trash.  Everything looked dirty and exasperated by the oppressive heat.  We parked the car outside of a tiny cement compound with no windows, and walked in through the door frame (there was no door.)  Inside sat three women, one elderly and two middle aged, as well as two small kids who looked three or four years old. They greeted us with big smiles and said hello in Swahilli, “Jambo.”  I scanned the room: no lights, no furniture (besides two plastic stools and palm leaf mats) and nothing to entertain themselves but each other. They had so little, but still seemed so joyous. I walked into Kingey’s home hot, tired, and longing for a cool pool, but I left shocked and grateful for what I already had.

Wiring in Yangshuo, China where we had the best WIFI in Asia!

I would constantly dream about coming home.  Literally: almost every week I would have a dream about coming home and playing with the dogs, eating lunch with my friends, or going in the hot tub. I would spend hours planning out my daily schedule for Mercer Island, down to the finest details, like what I was going to eat for breakfast, or what deodorant I was going to buy.  Otto and I regularly discussed the topic of “the first thing we were going to do when we step foot in our house again.”  I know what you’re probably thinking, but don’t even start.  I know it is a waste of time.  I should be spending my time enjoying the miraculous medina of Marrakech, not scrolling through Evo and trying to decide what skis to buy next winter.  The thing is: it was all a coping mechanism.  I desperately tried to fill up that hole left by the part of me that stayed behind in Seattle, and yeah, it killed a lot of time, but I think it did help combat the sickness for a while.

Now that this trip is coming to an end however, I feel my homesickness subsiding.  I still look forward to the day we return, but I am also scared.  I think back on the past year and am always left smiling to myself: happy, but with a hint of despondence.  I am glad that I had all of those amazing experiences, but I guess that I was wrong all along: that I don’t want it to end after all.

As if I didn’t already have enough to make me realize this truth, I recently read an article titled: “The Hardest Part Of Traveling No One Talks About.”  As I read the last paragraph, I finally knew that, somewhere in the wild plains of the Serengeti, or perhaps in the peaceful rice patties of Ubud, I too had contracted what is known as the travel bug:

“This is why once you’ve traveled for the first time all you want to do is leave again. They call it the travel bug, but really it’s the effort to return to a place where you are surrounded by people who speak the same language as you. Not English or Spanish or Mandarin or Portuguese, but that language where others know what it’s like to leave, change, grow, experience, learn, then go home again and feel more lost in your hometown then you did in the most foreign place you visited.”

The truth to this paragraph is almost ironic. My parents have a current list of countries going in Notes with a heading that says, “Trip Around the World 2025,” and I am already thinking heavily about college gap years. I guess the reason why I am struck with both despondence and comfort when reminiscing about the past year, is because I have once again contracted homesickness. A piece of me may be anxiously awaiting my return to Seattle, but I know reclaiming this piece will not make me whole again. For another piece of me is waiting out there… an airplane ticket away.

Yve, Otto and I in the Kuranda tropical rainforest of Queensland, Australia 

Heres what I would be like as a flight attendant:

…. and the conversation typically concludes with a comment from our new acquaintance something like “Wow! Your kids are really lucky to have this opportunity!” Or the more humorous “Can you adopt me too?!”

In the beginning  of this trip, I would think to myself “Yep, the kids are really lucky! Not many 12 year-olds get to skip 6th grade and see the world for a year!” But as the trip has unfolded, I realize that while we are all VERY LUCKY in so many ways, the luckiest person on this trip is ME!!

For 9 months now, I have gorged on time with Cliff and the kids! The seven of us have enjoyed over 800 meals together, uninterrupted by phone calls and texts. We have had the chance to read books together, share our thoughts about the world, and engage in conversations about all sorts of topics. We have played games, brainstormed new business ideas, taken over a dozen cooking classes and argued about differences of opinion. But, most importantly, we have gotten to know each other REALLY, REALLY WELL Good and bad, highs and lows, we have experienced it all.

I keep asking the kids to think about how our lives will be different when we get back to Mercer Island. Are we all just going to go back to doing exactly what we were doing before we left? I imagine myself, arriving home, unpacking everything from our worn out suitcases and then hollering down the hall “OK..making a run to Target, does anyone need anything?” It seems surreal, and yet, a likely scenario.

Regardless, I am most grateful that Cliff and I have had the opportunity to essentially kidnap our children from our crazy, action packed lives in Seattle and simply be together.  All too soon, we know that the kids will be off,  into the world, and will start making life plans on their own. This year long trip has been the greatest gift we could have ever given ourselves, and, despite whatever angst it may cause as we try and plug back into jobs and schools again, it was worth it….times a million!

Otto and I at a silversmithing class in Ubud, Bali

Yve and I in Gili Air, Lombok

Wescott and I doing a food safari in Ubud

Cliff and I enjoying sunset in the rice paddies of Bali

With the companionship of a fan whirling overhead, the unwanted second skin of heat that is incessant on tightly hugging every inch of my body, and the sounds of buzzing, chirping, croaking, cock-a-doodle-doing, I am destined to lie in bed; to stare knowingly up at the ceiling, thinking of things I would rather not think. And the things I would rather not think surprise me to no end, because, up until now, I had the impression that it would be easy.

Easy to go home.

But it’s not.  I’m stuck in a game of what-if, caught up in all the scenarios, staring up at a ceiling feeling guilty for not treasuring the day that it’s meant to be, and that so many others wish they could have. So I close my eyes. I try to dumb it down. I try to get to a place where things add up.

When I open my eyes again, they’re not angled towards the sky anymore, but to the ground. To the bed and to me on the bed. Sitting to an upright position, because I have to do something, I slowly begin moving to the direction of my legs. And the weight of the world suddenly begins to crash down hard, again. Though let’s not chalk it up to being a sulky teenager just yet.

Dark hairs line my skin and I flop heavily onto my back. Of course by now I’m way too fed up with all these extremities to second guess the mental wellness that decided hair was something to stress and express about. Lifting my legs,  I examine the fine follicles and this time there’s only a feeling of regarded numbness. So I haven’t shaved in a few days? Who gives a — never mind. I mean, at least I’ve gotten to the point where it’s soft to the touch. And with all these hippie / organic people cruising around in Ubud, I could totally pass it off as being earthy, all natural, and the likes. But no. That’s just plain weird. Who would want that?

Shutting my eyes again, to hopefully get liberated from the annoying situation at hand, I reopen only to come face to face with the ceiling. No matter how long I gaze, wishing for some light at the end of the tunnel, deep down I secretly know that it’s actually very easy.

Easy to shave my legs.

Now, you might be thinking that this is getting to be a very strange blog post. You’re not so sure if you want to keep reading because obviously the author is dealing with some “issues” and maybe this whole year long trip has been too much for her to handle. But, no need to worry… whatever this mind block is that I have got going on can swiftly be taken care of.  All with the swipe of a blade.

And so I find myself paddling into the surf. It’s a Saturday. Surfing day. My legs are smooth and blocked up with sunscreen along with my thoughts of home. Though I’ll always be nervous with anticipation for the big day to come—whether it stems from being reunited with friends and family, loving the trip and not wanting to go home, wanting to go home but curious on how the trip will impact my life onwards—there’s the knowing that with each new growing stubble of hair and each new reflection of Mercer Island, I just have to suck it up. Harsh, I know. Though there’s no other way of dealing with the much-too-near-ending of Project Equator, other than to realize each day that passes is one that will never happen again. Not in the sense that, yeah everyday is like that, but that I’ll have plenty of time sitting in a classroom and not a lot being in Bali on a trip around the world.  The rest can wait.

So shave your legs and start living.