SEATTLE, Washington "I got home 40 hours ago and I'm bloody packing again," I wail into the phone, slinging books into the suitcase.
"Hold it together," Edward coaches. "C'mon. It's the last flight of the year."
A mantra, this.
Last flight of the year. Last flight of the year. Last flight of 60 in 2006.
Don't remind me I'm lucky. I know. But I carry the counterweight daily: my internal compass, whirling, unable to anchor on the lodestone of home.
This year, I've reported from 14 countries and passed through a handful more: 147 nights away, storytelling for my keep.
Hit repeat on Counting Crows. Yet again:
A long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last