Here's the thing: I have these moments when I realize that I'm both living a life I never dreamed possible, and one that I can't really justify.

As a child, I endlessly obsessed about other places, but the assumption was simply that I would never get to go there. My family wasn't the type to take vacations to exotic destinations (or go on trips, period). The one time we left the country and/or went on a plane trip was when we moved from southern Germany to northern Ontario, Canada. That was it. For years, I thought that even - ever - seeing Germany again was out of reach for me. Getting into planes and going places for no reason - you just don't *do* that.

Now, in my 30s, I very much do that. I am still excited, each and every time, when I have the opportunity to go to places I only knew about through books and encyclopedias (oh, how I used to envy people who had *encyclopedias*, even. I was a geek from the time I could read. Maybe even earlier.) It still doesn't feel real, the lifestyle I've been leading over the last few years. This notion that it's pretty easy to just *go* somewhere, it doesn't sit as easily with me as you might think. There's not just the whole emissions guilt (and of that, there is plenty) but also this sense that I am walking a fine line to entitled brat.

And yet... one of the things I like best about my life is getting to see new things, and having interesting friends. I know some terribly interesting people, and always want to know more. So e-mail me.

And yes, that guy is my brother. So is this guy.

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