It was late 1992 and all my thoughts were on graduation and the wide world that
awaited me; even Ithaca was starting to seem small and I was itching to finish
my formal education and get out into the world for some “informal education.”
Evenings I took my passport from the drawer and examined it, took my backpack
out from the closet and walked around wearing it, testing, probing. In my
journal I listed places I’d like to see, adventures I wanted to experience, and
laid out my hope that I’d travel far and wide, and my fear that I wouldn’t.
I read those old journal entries again for the first time in ages. And to my
immense satisfaction, I read them while visiting Dubai. Imagine, the Gulf
States, drenched in Arabic lettering and the architecture of the Middle East.
Better still, I’d gotten there from Uganda, our new home. Better still, I’d
soon be returning to a wife I met in Central America and kids raised in
Francophone Africa. How immense is the world, and how endlessly fascinating and
satisfying.
