I never really traveled before this job. I grew up a poor, country kid. I never left Texas until a band trip the school raised money for when I was 17. It was Disney World, by the way. And I never flew until I was almost 21. That was to see a friend in Phoenix. I didn't feel left out then. It really was a simpler time even though it wasn't too terribly long ago.
(My post for tomorrow will oddly relate to this. "Why are you not posting that today?" you ask. Because I still want comments on my last post--God love you and your motherly concern, Bubba's Mom--and poll responses.)
So here's the weird part. As I was driving (off into the sunset) to the BBQ cook-off last night, I saw a plane coming in for a landing at the small airport. I was wistful. It had been, get this, a whole 10 days since my last flight. The life I have now says that's too long. That poor little country homebody would never have believed it.