What’s something you do completely differently from how you were raised?
Travel.
What’s something you do completely differently from how you were raised?
Travel.
Among Warriors: A Woman Martial Artist in Tibet by Pamela LoganI had better never see a book
ralph waldo emerson; The american scholar
than to be warped by its attraction clean out of my own orbit,
and made a satellite instead of a system.
Free should the scholar be, — free and brave.
Ralph waldo emerson; The American Scholar
If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine, it is lethal.
Paulo coelho
What you’re supposed to do when you
Maya angelou
don’t like a thing is change it.
If you can’t change it,
change the way you think about it.
Don’t complain.
No man ever steps in the same river twice,
Heraclitus
for it’s not the same river
and he’s not the same man.
Not sure what to do with this one. It reads to me much as would, “Would you prefer air or water?”
A tourist looks back fondly upon
A favorite destination;
A traveler is always at it.
A tourist loathes travel hiccups;
A traveler calls them stories.
A tourist jumps from one
Postcard vista to the next;
A traveler moves through the world.
A tourist collects knicknacks & geegaws;
A traveler collects experiences.
A tourist, between sights, seeks
A life experience as close to
Their homelife as possible.
A traveler wants a life experience
As close to local as possible.
A tourist has a favorite meal;
A traveler assumes he hasn't
Crossed paths with it yet.
A tourist leaves nothing to chance;
A traveler embraces the spontaneous.
A tourist takes comfort as a main course;
A traveler uses it like a condiment.
Just, oh so many of them. Virtually all of them. I’ve succeeded in every breath I took (so far, fingers crossed.)
Mad About The Mekong: Exploration and Empire in South East Asia by John KeayThe shades of night were falling fast,
As though an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped the groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell like a falling star,
Excelsior!
Tell us about the last thing you got excited about.
Going for a walk this morning. (I’m like a dog that way…. except I don’t pee during my walks… usually.)
Move playfully.