When I turned eighteen, my dad gave me an empty gift box.
“When the time comes that you want to travel, I’ll pay for your passport.” He said when I opened it.
“Maybe next year,” I said.
And for a while, that continued to be true.
~
Years later, my brother and his girlfriend went to India for a semester.
I looked at the picture he sent home, the stories he told, the life he lived. Then I looked at my own.
Sixty-hour work weeks digging conduit in the sun.
Part-time work on the maintenance crew for a pickle factory.
Periods of unemployment.
A month later, I cashed in on my dad’s promise, and three days later, I bought my plane tickets.
It felt easy.
~
Before I left for India, I never pictured the country in my mind—I simply packed my bag, and got on the plane.
Whatever waited on the other side would introduce itself soon enough.