And then I found this journal entry, written in 2002 when I was a 22-year-old college graduate, working as a night shift hotel receptionist in England. My head was in the clouds, and I was as travel-obsessed as ever. Oh, sweet youth.
“So what are your goals?” Tim asks, leaning forward in his chair.
I love to talk about my goals. I am clairvoyantly North American – everlasting hopeful – when I talk about myself.
“Oh, lots of things,” I reply, enjoying the laborious procedure of my storytelling, “I plan on being tri-lingual by the time I’m 27. I want to teach English in Asia – experience the Asian culture – and I want to study photography and film. I would like to try a stewardess job. However, my ultimate goal is to edit my own travel magazine.”
His eyes became large in wonder, and he grinned.
“Doesn’t sound like there’s room in there for a man,” he tells me.
A man. Marriage.
“I know,” I reply, “And I’m happy being single. I’ve had relationships in the past that have not lasted because I have moved, or he has moved. I would like to get married in 10 years or so, but if I had to choose between being with a boyfriend in one place, or living my dreams, I would choose my dreams.”