Refamilarizing the Familar.

The most important things I carried through Thailand and Laos were
a 50 cent pair of foam earplugs
a bandanna
and a zip up sweatshirt.

The most worthless thing that I carried through Thailand and Laos was
a top-of-the-line water purifier.

The thing I really wish I'd had in Thailand and Laos was
my ipod (thai music is horrible, really and truly very bad. And what they take from the west is skimmed off the very tip-top of the top 40. Horrific.)
and my old cellphone so I could get a thai simcard and make local calls-- public phones are in disrepair in EVERY country.

Before I set off on my next long trip (hopefully next July, for a year-- around the world) everyone I love will have to get Skype.

I would not have met half as many people, Thai and otherwise, if I weren't noticeably tattooed-- and well tattooed at that.

In the international eye, Americans are thought to be boisterous (in the bad way), high-strung, stressed out, and incessantly talkative without the capacity to shut up and listen or just be silent.

It was a compliment that no one believed I was an American when I was forced to admit it.

Apparently I don't have an "American" accent either. I guess I don't say "like" and "dude" enough. Also, no one believed I was 21, a few even asked to see my ID.

Despite the surprisingly common occurrence of lady-boys, the act of a woman shaving her head really perplexes Thai and Lao people.

Chaco sandals are the best shoes ever created.

Solo women backpackers aren't common in Asia-- but they're perfectly safe. I only felt slightly endangered twice but both situations were easily sidestepped.

Motorbikes are small but powerful. I didn't say anything then, but I fell down on one. There was a u-turn involved, and a hill, and the inherent problem that you always wanna use the back brake on one of those things and that's on the same side as the throttle and-- well, when you're about to run into something, in a panic sometimes you squeeze the brake and rotate the handle at the same time. And fall. But the nice thai man whose storefront I almost hit helped get the bike off of this completely unscathed and laughing farang.

There is nothing more liberating or freeing than carrying everything you need on your back-- being able to pack your life up in under 3 minutes-- and going wherever you feel at any given moment.

While gone, I missed drinking from the tap, hot showers, normal toilets(I can't stress this enough), breakfast cereal, certain people's voices, and a closet full of clothes to choose from(rather than 3 unappealing, unflattering outfits).

But, returning home is hard. Being stationary all of a sudden is hard. Every night is spent in the same bed and filled with frantic nightmares about sleeping on train station benches or in ferry boats bound for bangkok. The dreams aren't nightmares until I bolt straight up in bed and grope around semi-awake for my daypack (which held all my valuables that I would sleep with my arms around in trains/buses/boats/terminals/stations) and passport, and freak out when I can't find either one. Then sit blinking and confused in the dark sameness of a familiar place. Last night, in my dreams, I got into a fight with a guest house owner because he wanted to charge me for sleeping in my own bed. Somehow, constant change became more comforting.

Jet lag aside, I'm having a hard time talking as much as I'm supposed to because I'm used to spending days quiet and somewhat alone. I walk way out in front of anyone I'm walking with because I've grown accustomed to my own haphazard pace.

In two months, I think I did Thailand justice and I am satisfied with all I did there. I only got a taste of Laos, but I don't think Southeast Asia is done with me yet. Tony, an older, very well travelled Australian that I met, told me that I should expect to see many of the friends I made on this trip again-- because people like us, who set off into the world to embrace it at a young age, are setting a restless pace for the rest of their lives-- and the planet is a closed system. I'm only just beginning-- and, I'm already planning the next trip.

It's an audacious plan involving 9 cities, in 8 countries, on 4 continents over 12 months. It's a plan that's been matriculating through my mind for years and is beginning to pool into possibility. And by actually flinging myself far out into the world, I reached a place where I can see the next adventure on the horizon.

My "plan" for the future? To hop from one adventure to the next, stringing them together like prayerbeads: holding on to them for one moment and then allowing them to pass through my fingers.

There's no path ahead. That's what feet are for.