Leaving Cherbourg, Walden and a new filter

15/6 - In two days I'll be back in California. Of course, I still need to pack my things and clean the flat (always leaving these things to the last minute). I'm excited to make the journey back to my hometown!

I saw a video last night where the speakers talked about the importance of simply trying something and putting forth an effort to make it work. If you try but fail, it's not a bad thing because you weren't afraid to give it a go.

There were many reasons not to move to France: I quit my job and couldn't get one there because of the visa, I didn't speak French, I didn't know anyone, I was laid off from my part time job, the country was unsafe, etc.

But I followed my instinct, which told me to go to France because that's what felt right. In other words, I gave it a try.

Eight months later, I'm glad I drove to the French Consulate in San Francisco four times to sort out the visa. I'm happy I learned basic French in order to get by. I'm proud I made Cherbourg my home during this time. I'm happy I tried.

I didn't fail, either; It was a massive success!

By quitting and moving to France, I removed myself from routine that made me unhappy and feel stuck. I removed myself and did a restart, so to say. Coming here enabled me to examine the inner reaches of my core being in solitude. It's appropriate to say that I was a bit like Henry David Thoreau when he went to live in the forest and wrote Walden.

"I went to live in the forest because I wished to live deliberately, to suck the marrow out of life..."

My forest was a tiny, 3-story flat in a French seaport. Is there really any difference? This comparison only recently came to me, and not once did I ever have the arrogance as to expect to have a Thoreau experience. Hindsight is a funny thing. I certainly feel as though I sucked the marrow out of my time in France, because now I'm a bit more self-aware than before. 

17/6 - I was emotional when I left England for the final time, because I wanted to stay; that was an incredible year and I wanted to keep traveling. My final days in Porterville were difficult because I realized how I had acted and was ashamed of myself.

Leaving the flat in Cherbourg for the final time was remarkably easy. It was strange because this was such a big part of my life, but it wasn't difficult to leave the flat or say goodbye to my friends. There was no longing to stay a few more weeks to see the upcoming music festivals in the area, no inner disappointment that the stay lasted only eight months.

I feel completely satisfied by my time in Normandy. I accomplished everything I set out to do, I learned new skills and have a new hobby. Besides meeting Marie-Amance in person, there wasn't much more I could do.

In other words, it felt right to leave. My head and heart had drifted off to another place once again, leaving my physical body in limbo. At this rate I wonder if I'll ever be able to settle in one spot for more than a year.

Wanderlust is definitely an addiction and I've had my fix for the time being. Because I live with this affliction, I dunno if I'll be able to lead the "normal" life of working a job for 40 years in an office, buying a car, house and whatever else the American Dream involves.

I'm in my element when on the move. I'm a stubborn, nomadic vagabond. I'm a lone wolf perfectly comfortable operating alone in a strange land. Travel gives me purpose and a sense of accomplishment.

Why would I ever move away from that?

There ends my story in France. I want to thank those of you who have followed along on this adventure. You all definitely know a little bit more about what goes on inside my own head. But keep in mind this is merely the end of a chapter, as new travels are approaching quickly.

Les Dunes de Biville

Les Dunes de Biville

22/6 - Greetings from California, and Pacific Standard Time. Thankfully the jetlag is no more. A new piece of photography equipment has joined me here, and the results are in the photo below.

Back home on the banks of the Sacramento River, accompanied by some new equipment.

I created this shot with the help of a neutral density filter, which is a darkly tinted piece of glass that covers the end of the camera lense; Think of it as sunglasses for the camera. By using this filter, I can limit the amount of light that enters the lense during a long-exposure shot in the daytime. The picture above took 20 seconds to complete. Without the filter, the picture would be much too light. 

A quick trip to London

9/4 - I went to London for a job interview last week. Rather than writing about it, I created a video blog. Obviously, my strength in communication comes from writing, not speaking. 

Some clarity has come as a result of the trek to London, because the idea of going back to California feels right. My time in Cherbourg is up, and I've achieved what I needed to achieve. 

A haircut, anonymity and chakras

23/2 - The wolf has awoken.

I noticed something earlier today when I was sitting in the coiffure (barber) chair and looking at myself in the mirror, while the French woman with the firetruck-red hair and black leather jacket carefully cleaned up my head.

The ghost of a grin was on my face. Yes, I love getting a haircut, but this was more than that. Even to myself, I felt a bit of mystery. Why did I have that twinkle in my eye? Why was I smirking like that? It probably looked odd to the woman cutting my hair.

I examined my own features and found that I liked them! Even my lazy eyelid looks cool now because it provides my face with asymmetry. My bushier-by-the-day beard elongates my round face, and the faint lines on my still-young forehead gives it character. I looked directly into my hazel, gray-green eyes and pictured my inner wolf; It was smiling as well, sitting proudly upright and excited to have gained a bit of knowledge about itself.

I met a friend for a drink tonight at a local brewery here in Cherbourg, and the first thing she said was that my new haircut looks great and I have a different look in my eye from the last time we saw each other. Was it a coincidence from earlier today?

Soul searching for the past couple of weeks has been illuminating for me. It's helped me to understand that I must carry the lessons from the past with me, but not the guilt of previous mistakes. It's taught me that memory is unreliable when it comes to remembering exactly who we were in the past, because our own memories are in a constant state of flux.

But most of all, this soul searching has uncovered my inner wolf and helped it break free of its self-imposed muzzle, collar and leash.

24/2 - The wolf is not an alcoholic. Never has been. But Step No. 12 (Twelfth Tradition) of Alcoholics Anonymous captured its imagination today.

Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities. 

One must put aside their personal desires, emotions and self-beliefs for the good of all. Anonymity can also be represented by selflessness; these two abstract ideas can mirror each other. Anonymity can be achieved through selflessness, but selflessness can also be achieved through anonymity. There is, however, a minor roadblock to both: we can never achieve total selflessness or anonymity because neither totally agrees with the human mind.

The very concept of anonymity, especially in our capitalistic society where social media exists, is a foreign idea (and somewhat feared). We're encouraged from birth to put ourselves ahead of others in order to gain an advantage. We are taught to create our own brand; anonymity means we're irrelevant. This is difficult because, as human beings, we all want something for ourselves; the brain just works that way.

The ideas of selflessness and selfishness seem to be closely related. They also resemble the mystery of whether the chicken or the egg came first. We can do a selfless deed and not expect anything in return, but we get a great feeling from helping another person. Thus, we ultimately benefit in the end, and we know we will always receive this feeling. Is this selfish in itself? Is recovery in AA a selfish endeavor?

Another fascinating concept of Step No. 12 is "principles before personalities." We must treat people the same, no matter our level of dislike for them. Honor, respect, loyalty, patience, understanding. We must listen to the message, and not the messenger.

25/2 - This blog has mentioned chakras once, how my discovery of a fear and subsequent release of that fear was like opening one of the body's seven major chakras. It seems that, throughout 2017, I've been clearing out a couple of these chakras with my release of self-guilt and shame. With the commitment to accepting myself and all of my various flaws, telling others about my feelings for them and being totally honest and open, more of these energy centers are receiving attention.

Unintentionally, I've been helping myself spiritually these past few months. I've never been a spiritual person in any sense of the word, and the fact that I'm studying ideas from AA, spirituality, existentialism...would have been surprising to me back in October. I think the aforementioned story of my haircut highlights that, because my own view of myself is changing.

Something has clicked.

Thoughts about memory and my inner wolf

19/2 - I recently wrote about a woman I broke up with a few years ago before Valentines Day. I wrote how all I can do is laugh at my own harsh treatment of her, how I was cold.

Now let me tell you why this is fucking stupid, and how our own memory fails us.

I seem to beat myself up much more than necessary these days, regardless of the situation. I need to remember that sometimes the outside details, such as the fact her grandfather had recently passed away, are not my fault! It's terrible that happened, but I don't need to stay with someone because of that.

This morning, I saw her picture on Facebook for the first time in three or four years and suddenly remembered why I wasn't attracted to her.

Ultimately, this doesn't matter because it was in 2014. It was the past. This is only in my mind because I've invited it to stay; I've given it power. The same goes with what happened to Stella. It doesn't matter anymore. The past is bullshit, an abstract idea concocted by the human mind.

What does matter is that it was sunny and warm in Cherbourg today. What's relevant is that I can hear church bells while sitting in Parc Emmanuel Liais while hearing birds chirp. What matters is that I live in Europe and that I can learn every day. Right here right now is what's relevant.

Fuck feeling ashamed about what I did in the past. I made mistakes. Cool. But I don't need to keep carrying them around with me.

Ultimately, I'm holding on to this self-guilt for no reason other than because I can. It's some seriously mentally weak shit, and I'm pissed off that I keep this guilt within myself and am holding myself back! This guilt is like a collar, lead and muzzle around the neck and face of this wolf. Wolves don't enjoy that shit, and neither do I.

Do wolves dwell on the past? Do wolves doubt themselves in the present based on that one time they were unable to secure a kill? Of course not, and neither should I.

This is a reminder that memory is unreliable. Memory is fluid, constantly changing. Like how the mind constantly evolves with each new experience, our memory is in a perpetual state of flux with the passage of time. It will never be the same as what actually happened. We will never remember ourselves exactly how we were in the past.

In my case, I've been fooled by my own memory of myself. My mind has led me to believe that I was a shithead in the past who hurt anyone who crossed my path. This is untrue, and it always has been.

What I know now is that I have defined myself in the present based on my past actions. But the influence the past has is overstated. The lessons I learned will always stay with me, but I am not me from the past. I am me, right now, sitting on this bench in the park. I will choose to do the right thing that is relevant for today, this evening, this afternoon. I shall define myself based on what I know about myself today.

I do know that I have fears that have controlled me in the past. I know that I have anger. But I also know that the man today will not succumb to either like the man in the past did. Those fears and anger will never vanish, rather they will always be with me. However, I control them instead of them controlling me.

It's now almost six months since I left the newspaper. The person who was ashamed and embarrassed of his own performance is still there six months ago, whereas I am here right now. We are two different people. One exists...the other does only in constantly evolving memory. I am no longer him.

Fears, freelance and crepes

26/1 - In my Nov. 6, 2016 post, I wrote that my sole purpose in France is to learn French. Within the past few days, I've come to understand that my reasons for being here go much deeper than that.

I wrote that I may not understand those reasons until a later date. I was correct.

Though I've only lived here for three months, Cherbourg will always be my home because of how it has helped me evolve. This has been (and still is) a metamorphosis. And those unknown reasons for being here back in November?

I've discovered personal fears. I've been able to think intellectually again. I feel refreshed!

I spent a year in England, but these past three months on the south side of the English Channel have been more fulfilling, as if I've spent years here. This is truly the time when I tapped into my inner Self and seriously examined it, finding aspects about myself I never explored before.

My goal for 2017 is to iron out these parts of me, such as conquering my revulsion to intimate vulnerability. I've had such bad luck in the past with relationships that it has developed into a legitimate fear, like a fungus, and this is why I choose to safeguard myself rather than try. Affirmative thinking possessed me, and led me to the belief that I am not supposed to find happiness within a relationship; that was only for other people to experience.

The discovery of this corner of my psyche was emotional because I am choosing to let it go, to clear it out. It was intense. Compare it to clearing out a blocked chakra, which is a center in the body where spiritual energy flows.

When I had this revelation, I imagined myself squeezing the hell out of a pencil in my hand, holding it away from my body with a straight arm. Eventually it gets uncomfortable. But the only thing holding that pencil inside my hand is...my own hand. I chose to drop it. My fear was like that pencil.

I felt clear. I felt positive. I felt relieved.

Many other valuable ideas have come to my attention - Energy and intensity, the concept of respect, taking life for granted, humility. My time in Cherbourg has truly been sobering and humbling.

Writing is fun again. I arrived in Cherbourg broken, but the opportunity to step back to the sideline of the rat race of life has been so beneficial to me that I can't adequately put into words. I am seriously recharged, and excited to reenter the real world to apply all that I've learned here in Europe.

I arrived with a shallow desire of living abroad once again, to simply live in a different country, with the selfish purpose of traveling more. The time for me to leave France, whenever that point comes, will not be a disappointment. I will have been (and am) a changed man having experienced a bit of enlightenment.

I've experienced and learned much more than I ever imagined.

27/1 - While having a cup of coffee at the cafe today, I was entranced by the woman making crepes and goufres (Belgian waffles) 15 feet away from me.

She had blond hair tied back behind her head and a black sweater. She was a one-woman wrecking crew, as efficient as possible. She handled cash from a steady flow of customers, even while the crepes took shape and the waffles solidified from liquefied batter.

After she poured batter on the circular hot plate and used a wooden tool in the shape of a "T" to evenly spread it, I saw how steam shrouded the plate and rose into her face, making each as unclear as the distant future. It was a transformation with the help of heat, of energy. I imagined the molecules solidifying, their physical characteristics evolving into a different state of being.

I watched her expertly handle a long, flat, steel tool to flip the crepes onto their uncooked side, flipping the instrument itself to help roll the crepe flat. She fearlessly folded the crepe with bare hands while still on the hot surface. Each squirt of chocolate sauce or powdered sugar was in her muscle memory.

This woman was a crepe-making virtuoso, hypnotizing those nearby with her expertise in creating this French staple. It was a form of art. 

I had a brain wave.

I'm like one of those crepes. My time in France represents the cooking time for the batter to become solid. I'll eventually return as a work of art.

31/1 - Throughout college, the concept of freelance writing and editing never appealed to me because I was always one who preferred a constant, steady job. So, I never gave it serious thought or consideration.

The developments of earlier this month during my three-country trip necessitated investigation into freelance. This is actually the best time for me to give it a go because I'm in a place where it's difficult to find a steady job. It's the time when I must adapt, and this means freelance.

Friends have suggested two freelance websites, and suddenly the prospect of staying in France seems not only possible, but positively simple...

Within the past several days, excitement for the future has flared up inside me, like a lantern. Even the study of French, helped along by the availability of national newspapers in the library, has been more fun as of late. The instances of me completely forgetting how to speak French are more rare, and it's beginning to flow naturally.

I'm bursting at the seams with positivity. My smile stretches beyond the confines of my face these days.

Nous sommes ici parce que c'est là que nous sommes supposés être

We're here because it's where we're supposed to be.

The final adventure of 2016: Sleeping in homeless shelters in Cherbourg

29/12 - I spent last night sleeping in a homeless shelter a couple of miles away from where I live in Cherbourg.

This was an unplanned adventure that spanned 22 hours in the streets of the city. I was fuming throughout, but at the same time I knew it would be a funny story in the future; It was the unlucky combination of circumstances that made this tale so shitty.

Here are some seemingly unrelated elements which joined forces to become a massive inconvenience to me over this time span, one worthy of documentation:

• I left with a light jacket and a scarf, over a T-shirt and a pair of gloves. 
• The three other people who live in the flat are not here, though I did not realize this at the time. 
• My American bank had locked my debit card, thus disabling my ability to withdraw cash; I have been using a credit card.
• My phone was dead, and I did not have a charging cable.
• Hotels usually close for the night at 9 p.m.

As you read this account, pay attention to all of the places where the aforementioned limitations hindered me. It was a perfect storm of lousy circumstances and bad luck, the kind of foul concoction I might never encounter again. But, also take note of the treatment I received from others throughout the night; They tried their best to help me. Those of Cherbourg have been friendly to me so far, and I have noticed that people tend to automatically switch to English when they hear me speak French. But, I still made myself understood in French, and that alone is an an accomplishment.

The act of traveling almost always calls for critical thinking, because sometimes plans have to dramatically change. You have to find where you will lay your head at night, as well as transportation; it's like a puzzle. But, last night my mind was constantly racing. What do I do? Where should I go? Who should I ask? Though I made some bad decisions fueled by alcohol, it still ended up fine. And now, in the warmth and comfort of my own flat, I can't help but laugh at myself and that situation. Repeatedly.

Finally, I kept a useful quote in mind from the infamous Jack Sparrow, because it would keep me calm: The problem is not the problem. The problem is your attitude about the problem.

It all stemmed from the fact I had left my flat without my key yesterday afternoon to buy groceries.

I decided to wait by the front door of my flat until someone entered or exited. I pressed each doorbell multiple times throughout this time, and I rapped on the windows. After several hours of this and nothing happening, I walked to the Irish pub in the center of town because it has free Wifi. I do not have a French phone number so I couldn't call anyone.

After a couple of beers and my friends being notified of my situation, I learned about the existence of an old lady who lives near me and has a duplicate of my house key. But before I could learn specifically where she lives, my phone died for good. I went back to the flat, thinking someone had returned by now (19:00). No one was there. By this point, more than a few colorful sentence enhancers escaped my mouth.

With the load of groceries in my backpack still a burden and after a brief time pondering a plan on a bench, I walked to another bar near where I live. I had another beer. By this time I hadn't eaten anything for about six hours. Under the inevitable influence of French and Belgian lager, the dark idea of violently smashing the window on the front door entered my conscience. I would NOT spend the night outside. So, I slyly deposited the beer bottle into my backpack before leaving the bar, with the intent of throwing or jamming it into the window pane. With the window broken, I would be able to reach inside and unlock the door.

Back at my flat around 1 a.m., I looked both ways for foot traffic. Nothing. All was quiet. Even the flat opposite me, where television light had been shining through the windows earlier, was dark. I focused on the door window again. I raised my arm as if I were Dracula pulling my cloak around me...WHAM! The cacophonous bang as a result of my elbow slamming into glass seemed to echo more than normal throughout the sleepy street.

I threw my left elbow as hard as I could against the glass three times. Nothing. I tried my right elbow. Nothing. I then resorted to the tin can of red beans in my backpack. As if I were wielding a knife to attack, I jammed the can against the window pane. Nothing, although the tin can has a large dent in it now. Since that didn't work, I decided against using the beer bottle because it was too light.

This is when I began thinking about where I would stay for the night. The temperature was dipping, and I knew I had to protect myself from the cold; my clothes were not adequate for those temperatures so I tried to sleep in a parking garage. It just got colder. I could see my breath. My next thought was to ask the police, wherever I could find a car (I had come across a police car earlier, but decided to break my window instead). Luckily, I found a police car after 10 minutes of searching.

In some broken English and French, they told me they could call a locksmith, but they only take cash. I said this was impossible as I can only use a credit card. They then drove me to a hotel where I could check in using a machine. My card didn't work. The officers looked perplexed and I just stood there helpless, with no idea what to do. They then drove me to a homeless shelter next door to where AS Cherbourg basketball club plays.

Luckily there were beds available, and I got a spacious room with a shower and plenty of blankets, along with a toothbrush, shampoo and towels. It was warm. The woman who checked me in and made a copy of my driver license spoke only French, but I could understand some of what she said, including when she asked if I had alcohol or knives on me. I was thankful to be in the warm; my immediate goal of finding shelter from the cold achieved.

After the sun rose enough to my liking in the morning, I quickly left the shelter and began the walk back to Cherbourg, on a mission to get into my flat. I knew it would happen. I was motivated. But the temperatures had dropped to below freezing overnight, and I was lucky to have found the police. As I walked back to town, a temperature gauge read 0 degrees Celsius - freezing point. There was frost on the ground, and the cold bit my unprotected face.

I visited the tourism office where the woman spoke perfect English. She suggested going to the police station. After some muddled conversation in French at the station (which was a short walk from the tourism office), I got my point across to the woman at the front desk and my address to where to send the locksmith.

When the locksmith arrived and let me into the flat about 45 minutes later, I felt a mammoth sense of relief, but my adventure was not quite finished. He then charged me 90 Euro in cash for minimal work, but since I could not withdraw cash he took my California driver license and told me to meet him in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I asked my friends for help, and fortunately one of them answered the call. After paying the locksmith, a relieved, albeit tired, hungry and thirsty me bought her lunch, my ordeal finished.

What a way to end the year, eh?

30/12 - It's the end of another year. I'll keep this post short, since I've already written a novel for you all.

I visited two new countries in 2016 (Mexico and Portugal) and discovered the joys of Chicago. I benefited from visiting a doctor in Tampico and experienced nostalgia in England, specifically in London and Poole. I found a new home in France, thanks to a wonderful opportunity from a friend.

I felt pure, childlike joy and bliss while riding Ducati motorcycles this year in California. It's a high I don't often feel; those rides left me emotionally drained and my voice hoarse. I feel the most free while riding curves of beautiful roads on a high-performance motorcycle.

But most importantly, 2016 provided me with a chance to rectify the mistake of moving back to Porterville by returning to Europe. This has allowed me to reset my life, so to speak, after a troubling time in the Central Valley of my home state. In Cherbourg, I have been able to learn every day, to think, to discuss, to read, to grow as a person. For that I am thankful.

For 2017, I will continue my ongoing and never-ending education, and it all begins with travel. In January I have a trip (halfway) planned to yet another new country (plural?), but it most likely will not be a happy venture.

This is the final post of 2016. I thank all of you for reading, following along on my adventures and evolution, and keeping in touch. Expect more in 2017. Cheers!

Discovering Mont Saint-Michel in the fog and my simple life in Cherbourg

17/12 - Activate your imagination.

Imagine walking on a gray, asphalt road surrounded by dense, white fog. On either side of the road (and as far as you can make out) is either ocean water or gray, muddy sand and silt, the result of low tide. You can hear the sound of gentle waves making contact with the supports of the bridge on which you stand. Fifty feet in front of you is totally white. The same can be said of your rear view. 

You keep walking. 

Besides the sound of water and your footsteps...silence.

Eventually, a dim, muddled shape appears in the foggy distance. A few moments later, one can see it's a parked car.

A couple more more steps and another shape materializes in the blanket of white, but this time it's massive. It's actually an imposing stone wall which extends into the fog on the left and the right. There is a gateway in the center of the path, in the shape of a fortress entrance. 

As you approach the entrance, your head tilts backwards in an effort to register the appearance of Mont St. Michel through the fog, including the abbey towering above the rest of the structures.

Mont St. Michel is a tiny commune perched on an island about half a mile out to sea on the south western border of Normandy and Brittany. It seems to be a religious mecca of sorts, as there are several monks who live on the island according to the tour guide. The abbey also extends as far back as the 12th century! 

Because of the walled, isolated character of this commune, I compared it to Gondor in the Lord of the Rings films. And if we had gone on a day that didn't feature dense fog, the views would have been incredible, but I was happy to simply be there. Mont St. Michel is a UNESCO World Heritage Site which survived attacks from the English during the Hundred Years War.

I enjoyed climbing the steps through the lower levels of the village towards the abbey entrance and listening to the tour guide's deep voice reverberate throughout the granite walls of the cathedral and other chambers. It was peaceful.

The lower levels of the commune are made up of restaurants, a couple of hotels, some bars, smaller chapels, museums and gift shops. It's quite a touristy place, and for good reason. It's a great place to simply wander around, up stone steps among a castle-like community and (in our case yesterday) feel as if we're floating in the sky itself.

18/12 - The road trip to Mont St Michel was a great idea, and I'm thankful to have met friends through Couchsurfing here. It's part of the reason I'm content with my life here. 

In my previous post about the trek to Lisbon, I wrote that I have been searching for equilibrium over the past several years. While I know it most likely takes a lifetime of reflection to achieve desired balance, I have noticed I am much more happy in my new French home. 

It has been two months since I arrived in Cherbourg. My life here is simple. I don't have a phone number, car, bicycle, motorcycle, more than 25 television channels or any bills associated with those things. What I do have is books in a large shelf which sits directly across the room from the couch, in both French and English, and two specific purposes each and every day: edit for Bleacher Report and study French at least 30 minutes a day. 

I have decreased the amount of alcohol I drink considerably and replaced the pint glass with a cup of coffee, most of the time being a latte or Americano. I do not miss spending money on beer. 

The more-frequent happiness and contentment in my life lately, I believe, is the result of simplifying my existence in a world where we're constantly being encouraged to buy something, to be a good consumer. It's not important to me. I just want to spend my time in the company of family and friends. 

Christmas and New Years are approaching. I will not make a New Years Resolution because if I want to improve my life in some way I will not wait for a certain day, which I have already proven. Instead, 2017 will be a year in which I continue my never-ending education, improve my French further and search for more knowledge that could help me find equilibrium. 

Christmas in Cherbourg, coffee breaks and slowly improving French

29/11 - In my previous post, I recanted my statement about Cherbourg feeling like home because the language barrier was so difficult.

I wish to recant my recantation.

Like a badly tuned radio, the language is slowly becoming more clear the longer I am here. Every day I can recognize a new word on television, on advertisement signs, in town or when someone speaks. When watching television, I usually turn on French subtitles so I can understand more of what they say. It's a source of pride for me.

Coming to Cherbourg has been the best decision for me. It felt right over the summer before going, like it was the way forward. Several months later, and I can confidently say that was the correct thinking.

It has been good for me to reset, so to speak. It has been healthy to reflect, because I have grown from the past year. The change of scenery was just what I needed. It has given me the focus that deserted me in Porterville. Though I have a comfortable flat, I am enjoying living simply. I love walking everywhere I need to go.

I have made several friends so far and with my improving French skills, I feel like I am assimilating into this town already. It's amazing how beneficial being social is for the soul, like last night when I played pool at a local brewery with friends. I relish these opportunities to ask them about French.

One of my favorite things to do in Cherbourg is to simply sit down at a local cafe and drink a coffee while watching people walking by. At these points I speak to myself in French, describing what I see. I have written before about the importance about staying in the present, enjoying the moment. These uncomplicated treks to the cafe are perfect for savoring the moment, like truly and slowly sampling a sip of warm, bitter coffee during a chilly afternoon.

30/11 - There is a bakery across the pathway from my favorite cafe. While relaxing with my coffee today, someone from the bakery was busy cooking fresh crepes. Her station sat next to the normal shelf filled with various loaves of bread, baguettes, wraps and desserts; she made it look effortless. The aroma drifted lazily towards me and mixed with the scent of my coffee, thus intoxicating my senses.

I love living here.

3/12 - The Christmas version of Cherbourg arrived last night with the help of a large celebration. The town center and major streets around it now glow with neon-induced greatness. It's beautiful! There is now a skating rink in front of the theater and a super slide where the farmer's market usually is.

It's been a while since I wrote for the blog, but I've been working my tail off, both with Bleacher Report and studying French. I go to local basketball or soccer games, the movie theater, the grocery store, etc, and all of these places have helped me with French. 

This blog will get back to actual travel stories soon. I will find myself in Lisbon next week. I have had thoughts of planning a trip to Norway to see the Northern Lights in March, and Greece in January to visit a school friend. 

A purpose in France, future plans and Poole

3/11 - In my last post, I wrote that Cherbourg already feels like home.

I wish to recant that statement.

The language barrier here is real. It's no joke. Because I'm unable to communicate in French besides short, simple statements, it's difficult to meet people. As a result I've spent a lot of time by myself, simply thinking. It does get lonely here because of that. But, If there has been one good thing about this move, it has allowed me to slow down, step back and reflect.

In the months leading up to the move (and in the first week here), my reasons for making this jump didn't take much thought: I have the opportunity, so why not? That is, and was, painfully shortsided. Typical of my life, I didn't think things through. Dazzled by the chance to live in another country like a child entranced by a gift wrapped in shiny wrapping paper, I didn't think about what I wanted to accomplish. I didn't set any goals.

During my walk up the hill which overlooks the city earlier this week, there was a moment where I wondered about why I'm even here. What's the point? Is there something I'm working towards? I felt like I was spinning my wheels, stagnating. But then later that day, I finally realized what I should have a month ago:

I am here to learn French. That's the purpose of this whole adventure. Nothing else.

Because I am here to learn French, it dawned on me recently that I should be throwing my full effort into this. Every particle of my being should strive to learn French. In the words of Eric Thomas, when I want to succeed as bad as I want to breathe, that's when I'll succeed.

Unfortunately, I have never reached that point. It has been typical of me to take things in my life for granted: jobs, friendship, education, opportunities, health; I noticed today I have taken Bleacher Report for granted too, because I'm rushing through edits, thus missing glaring mistakes.

I have been a stereotypical millenial in that I have been handed things, and at times I feel entitled. I don't quite understand what it means to put in a full day of hard work, and then some more. This has obviously held me back, and I now second-guess myself.

No more. I cannot, no, I will not accept mediocrity from myself anymore.

I am supposed to be here, because this is where I am. It should be no other way. But, I can't help but think there is another reason for me to be here, but one that has yet to reveal itself. In time, however, I will understand...

Anyway...I am being too hard on myself again. This is an incredible opportunity to live in France. Within the past week, the trees have been losing their leaves and the air is fresh, crisp and cool. I sat down at a cafe today, ordered an espresso and watched people walk by. While listening to a steady hip-hop beat, I suddenly smiled to myself. I am doing something fantastic. I live in France. It can't all be bad.

In other news, I have set up a time when I will travel to Paris for a week in January for private tutoring with Marie-Amance's father Philippe, who is Canadian. We will study for an average of three hours per day, speak nothing but French and take excursions inside the city to practice. He already knows I have studied Spanish and German extensively, but he warned me that French will be more difficult than any of the languages I have been exposed to.

I have also finalized a visit to country No. 18: Portugal! I'll fly to Lisbon for a couple of days in December; the trip will be similar to when I explored Chicago in March. Short, but exciting. And, it's stupid not to take advantage of a round trip flight for $42.

I am still swimming several days out of the week, but that fantastic pool does get crowded at times; today the lane in which I swam had four other swimmers.

Since drinking four beers during my first night, I have yet to consume any more alcohol. I don't need to! It's kind of a nice feeling, and I am losing weight.

My time in Cherbourg has exposed me to one other first: using shaving cream for my face. I didn't know shaving could be so painless...

4/11 - I arrived in Poole yesterday via the ferry. This is home! Everything is familiar, right down to the deli in the harbor where I ate lunch, had a coffee and waited for the rain to settle down. 

While sipping on my latte and reading about the latest chapter of the Brexit nonsense in this country from The Telegraph newspaper, while also listening to British accents, I had to smile to myself again. I seem to gravitate towards places where I have lived in the past and have deep connections. For me, there is comfort, safety and familiarity in these places.

I could bore you with the description of an afternoon and evening of meeting up with old friends inside Bournemouth Square and some deep conversation, but the more prudent story is simply the ride back to Poole on the bus. While in the middle of the ride back to Poole, I felt a moment of nostalgia. When I lived there, the busses were my lifeline. How sweet and appropriate that I got the chance to ride them again!

5/11 - I'm back on the ferry to Cherbourg. There's nothing more to say except for one thing. Home isn't only 5,000-plus miles away in California; It's also a short ferry ride across the English Channel.

Until next time.

First week in France, language, football and staying in the present

22/10 - Since arriving in Cherbourg on Wednesday, I've had ideas for writing topics. The ideas stewed in my head, ready to be put into words. But when my fingers touched keyboard, kind of like right now, there isn't a hot, burning desire to complete the task. I run into a wall, and the effort of reaching that particular summit just hasn't been worth the effort lately. It's not because I'm depressed. No. I think it's less complex than that.

The move to Cherbourg simply hasn't been that exciting.

Cherbourg is basically the French version of Poole, England, my old home. I live shockingly close to the oceanfront and the harbor. I am within walking distance to grocery stores, museums, parks, soccer stadiums, outlet stores and an indoor swimming pool. The weather is just like Poole, in that it may rain in the morning and be sunny the rest of the day, or vice versa. I also expect the ground to be frozen solid in the winter like it was in Poole and Bournemouth.

And, of course, I live within walking distance to the ferry that connects to Poole.

The fans at the A.S. Cherbourg soccer game on Saturday night were dressed similarly to British chavs (think tracksuits), and they sang the same, unimaginative song repeatedly throughout the contest, until Cherbourg won 2-1. However, French fans seem to be more physically fit and easier on the eyes than the British.

There are plenty of shops, restaurants and cafes in the center of the town, and there is a farmers market on Tuesdays. Just take a seat at the "big fountain" and do some people watching. Just like in Poole, you'll see some seedy people.

The only major difference is the fact French is the primary language here. Therein lies the challenge of living in Cherbourg for a non-French speaker like me. For the first time in my life, I really am foreign. I'm living in a place where I don't speak the language, and that immediately separates me from most of the people here. I feel different, like another species. In some ways, I feel separated from the rest of this society because of my lack of proficient ability to communicate effectively.

Having said that, I have not once felt the kind of anxiety and discomfort I felt during those first few days in Poole, overwhelmed of the fact I now had a student loan to worry about and had uprooted myself so completely. I have not had that distressing what-the-fuck-have-I-done feeling. In fact, Cherbourg feels like home already. My jetlag dissipated quickly, and the loft in which I sleep, under two skylights, is delightfully comfortable. I already know more French today than I did last week.

Though I know more French already, I am still highly uncomfortable and awkward when speaking it. It is much more difficult to speak than Spanish, and there's a part of me that doesn't wish to butcher this complex yet beautiful tongue. This is because, in my opinion, Spanish words are read and pronounced similar to English words, and the sounds of the alphabet are relatively similar; in other words, when we read words in the two languages or speak them, we already know how the letters sound by themselves and how they combine to make a word. Not so in French.

Earlier this week I lost my cool simply trying to tell a grocery store clerk, "Je ne parlais pa Francais bien." In English, "I don't speak French well." I got flustered and felt shame afterward. But, in the days afterward I relaxed and do not feel as flustered to say a simple sentence in my third language.

This is my street. Rue Emmanuel Liais.

26/10 - I am still having trouble finding inspiration to write. I feel like Spiderman when he realized that just because he has superpowers doesn't mean he has to force everything else in his life to the side for the sake of fighting crime. He noticed his powers fading, most likely because he didn't have a passion for it, at the moment.

I took a step back with the blog because the passion isn't there at the moment. But, I have confidence that it will return, just like Spiderman's did. 

Perhaps it's because I'd rather not write about unspectacular, mundane, everyday events such as exploring my city, having coffee with friends or visiting the indoor swimming pool a few blocks away from me. Granted, that pool is incredible. It is on the second floor and has glass walls which have views of the harbor and the city, and the water is completely clear and has a proper depth. 

Writing about the pool, I am also obligated to write about the style of swim trunks I am required to wear. In France, trunks are short and tight...not quite "budgie smugglers" as they say in Australia, but so short that they remind me of short boxer-briefs. A pool official approached me after entering the pool in basketball shorts, and she informed me that next time I need trunks. But I digress. 

I do, however, want to write about philosophy. After discussion with friends and more reflection, I have realized that I am in Cherbourg for a reason. This is where I am supposed to be; it is no fluke. I cannot change that fact. It is futile to attempt to understand why I'm here. The simple truth is that I just am, and we are hopeless in an attempt to control what happens to us in life. We are careening along through life, powerless to the chaos of the unknown future. 

If we spend too much time attempting to understand why something happened in the past, we forget to live here and now. The act of comparison between one's own decisions and another person's actually hollows one's own situation. We made those decisions for a reason, and the only thing we can do is to simply accept that fact and move forward into the future. The past should stay in the past. 

So, I live in France. It doesn't matter why I'm here or how I got to this point; that information is irrelevant. What matters is simply that I'm here, right here, right now.  

Visa process, stolen information and California hiking

27/7 - I failed the test I took in Los Angeles.

The passing mark was 70, and I scored 65. Eleven out of the 26 people who took it passed. I'm not disappointed though, because I do not want to live in Los Angeles.

On to France. I need to visit the French consulate in person to apply for the visa, and it has to be at the one in San Francisco because I live in that jurisdiction. However, I live closer to the one in Los Angeles. My appointment is set for Sept. 16. This was disappointing because I want to get this process over with, and it probably means I won't take the Foreign Services test in Paris. But no worries, because airline tickets are still cheap in October, should I be issued the visa by then.

2/8 - The visa process is painfully complex. I need some 13 items required for the in-person application in San Francisco, including copies of everything. The consulate wants to see two months of bank statements, a promise that I won't engage in commercial activity during my stay (get a French job?), a letter of invitation from Marie-Amance as well as proof of lease agreement, the cost of the visa, some other application forms, my passport and the actual thumb from my right hand, among other things.

So between now and Sept. 16, I'm stuck in limbo. There is plenty for me to do to prepare for both France and the upcoming Foreign Services Officer test, such as learning some basics of French and reading books on the recommended reading list, but all of this is taking away from other aspects of my life. Something needs to give. If I'm not putting in my full attention and effort into something, I should just walk away from it. But, that innate fear of walking away is present. It's a huge commitment to step away, one that takes courage.

As for the FSO test, I cannot register for it until Aug. 23. On one hand, I'm glad I know all of these dates and ahead of everything, but I'm restless. I want to register and see where I take it. I want to get this process started! It could be the beginning of an amazing time in my life.

6/8 - I grew up camping among Redwood trees. I now live close to Giant Sequoia trees. Even though I know the immense size of these trees and enjoy showing them to other people, the sight of them never gets old. Sequoias are like those larger-than-life landmarks found throughout the world that are so immense they look fake. They are as impressive after they fall over because you can see the massive-yet-shallow root system. And when they fall over a trail and crash, it's an amazing scene. Chaotic and messy, yet awe-inspiring and beautiful.

9/8 - It appears I'm the victim of a form of identity fraud. Someone has somehow gotten my debit card information and gone on a spending spree. Luckily, they only spent $80 at a TJMaxx. I have taken care of the situation by notifying the bank and changing my card information. It's a minor inconvenience. However, I'm still annoyed for one simple fact. If you're going to steal card information, at least treat yourself to something nice. Don't go to TJMaxx!

15/8 - In total, someone stole more than $300 from my account. I got the money back, but I no longer have a debit card. This has been a minor inconvenience and something to learn from. From now on I will be wary of gas stations, and I'll definitely use more cash.

I've been going on difficult hikes for the past three weeks. This past weekend Spencer and I went to Los Padres National Forest along Highway 1 and hiked the Salmon Creek Trail. There was a total of 2,400 feet of elevation, most of which was in the first mile. That 8-mile hike was brutal, but beautiful. I find it funny how I loathed hiking as a kid when my parents dragged me along on day trips. I hated it! But now as an adult, I love it. I relish the challenge. They're also beautiful!

Saturday was also my first time in San Luis Obispo. This is the home of Cal Poly, a university several of my high school friends went to. I heard plenty about SLO, but had not been there. On Saturday I found out what all the fuss is about. The weather is cool, there are stores that aren't chains and the woman are drop dead gorgeous! I lost count of how many tall, slender, fit, beautiful women I saw in those few hours, and none of them had four or five children running around everywhere! It was yet another reminder of how shocking it is I still live in Porterville. I'm physically still here; my body can be found in Porterville. But my mind and my heart are long gone in different locations.

It was also another reminder how invigorating it is to not only travel, but to leave the Central Valley, if only for a day. I felt refreshed! What might have been a totally normal day in SLO, was culture shock to Spencer and I. We're not used to eating good food in cool, comfortable weather, appreciating the form and the curves of the female body. Porterville just doesn't have any of that!

Another day in Los Angeles, a new library card and the complicated visa to France

21/7 - I made the trek to Los Angeles yesterday to take the test for the Public Information Officer position with the Los Angeles Community College District. The office was in the heart of downtown LA, which would be a cool place to work.

This was my first time in the heart of downtown Los Angeles among the skyscrapers of the vast, smoggy metropolis. And just like every other time I find myself walking near buildings this huge, I found myself in awe. I'm a city kid, but not like this.

Since a school within the district will enjoy its 50th anniversary in January, the 2.5-hour test consisted of us writing two press releases about the event, writing a script for a video that would target high school students interested in attending that school and outlining the marketing and promotional plan for the anniversary celebration. I honestly have no idea how I did, but I'm glad to have finished. The first 30 seconds or so, my mind exploded and was empty of ideas. But, ideas began sprouting up here and there, and eventually the exercise became fun.

There were nine other people taking the test, all of whom were wearing nice clothes. And then there I was in a T-shirt with sweaty pits, denim jeans with dust and dirt from a recent hike and dirty Chuck Taylors. This is because, upon my early arrival to LA, I got the sudden and spontaneous idea to hike the hills near the giant and iconic Hollywood sign. I ended up at the Griffith Observatory after a two-mile round-trip hike, dripping with sweat but energized from going into the little amount of nature found in a cement jungle.

After taking the test, I ended up in the downtown library, another unplanned event. I exited the library with a library card and several beginning French language lessons on CD so I could be productive while battling traffic on my way out of LA. It was a brilliant yet spontaneous idea. That library is amazing, one that puts the one in Porterville to complete shame. There are more than six floors of knowledge there, though I didn't immediately find a couple of the books on the recommended reading list for the FSO test in October.

It was a short trip to one of the United States' greatest cities, but the day was filled with unplanned joys which makes for a great story.

In other news, it appears securing a long-stay visa for France will not be as straightforward as I thought. I need to apply in person at the LA consulate, which will be a month from now. Along with the application form, passport, money and photos, I will need what sounds like an invitation letter from my friend in Cherbourg, bank statements from the past two months, traveler insurance, and a letter promising I won't engage in any commercial or economic activity. I'm wondering how that will affect my online job with Bleacher Report.

And speaking of Bleacher Report, I learned earlier this week that the company will not pay me through a French bank account because of different tax laws and liability reasons. I'm thinking I will just keep my American bank account and use a credit card while over there.

All of this seems overwhelming, but I want to do this right. I've sent an email with all of my questions to the consulate which should be answered within three business days. I think everything will work out, though the process just got a bit more complicated. No worries. I enjoy the challenge.

Future career prospects, leading up to France and a former Ducati owner

9/7 - This is the twilight of my time in Porterville.

Subconsciously, I'm already planning on living in Cherbourg. I'm keeping my options open by sending out resumes, but the prospect of living in France seems to be the most real idea right now. Along with another career possibility, the way forward is clear. It will cost $110 for a long-stay visa in France (stays more than 90 days).

I want to chase a career as a Foreign Services Officer (FSO) with the State Department. This essentially means being a diplomat who represents the United States all over the world. I watched a video last week about the career, and I was in awe for a full 12 minutes. I saw myself in each of those people, and I very much want to chase that path. I was inspired.

The first step is to register for a FSO test. The next window to take this test is in October, so that gives me three months to study. I took the practice test last week, and with zero preparation I scored a 92; a passing mark was 100. Knowing this made me a bit more confident, but I still want to give myself the best chance possible of passing it.

This all fits in with moving to France as well. During the next testing window, I can take the test in Paris. The move would not interfere with this process, which will be long. The test is the first step, and there are nine in all. It'll be a long road for sure, but the most important thing that matters is that I finally know what I want to do with my life. It's too bad I didn't realize this when I was still in school, but it's better late than never.

17/9 - Goodbye, Ducati.

I sold the Ducati today, finally. While I took a huge hit on it, I still got a good chunk of money that will help with future plans, most notably France. That bike gave me some excellent fun, but it was time to move on. The lesson learned from being a Ducati owner is to do more extensive research on a make and model, including making sure I will be able to afford to maintain it. No regrets! I'll even have another motorcycle video in the next few weeks for you all to feast your eyes upon.

On Wednesday I will make another trek to Los Angeles, this time for a test that could lead to an interview if I pass. This is with the LA Community College District for the Public Information Officer position. I'd like to see where this goes because it's a good career opportunity, but the list of positive reasons to move to France keeps growing. But, if all goes well I will have a choice between Los Angeles and France.

One aspect of France that is so enticing is the fact I'll live by myself for the first time in my life. I have never not had a roommate. Add to that the fact I will live within walking distance of the train station and ferry terminal, and this is something that just seems right. I'm a traveler, and Cherbourg is the perfect base to do that. This is the way forward. It feels right, especially because of the fact I can fly to Paris from Oakland, CA for $265 on Tuesday, Sept. 6.

I have been in a much better mood lately and can tolerate Porterville. In fact I'm looking at the positives about the city again, which is of course the location. There are some good hikes just on the edge of the city and great people here. All of this stems from the fact I can now see a way out of Porterville; I will leave this place soon. Also, there are new people starting at work, so the stressful chapter is likely behind me, likely to be looked back upon and laughed at.

Finally, my parents visited this weekend; it's always great to see them. They even got the chance to see the ranch in Springville and meet Mr. Boo, Spirit and the rest of the cattle and horses that call it home. But most importantly, they brought me a handful of bottles of wine. Cheers!

18/7 - The first day at work knowing one person in particular was gone forever was excellent. The mood in the office was so relaxed and our spirits were higher. It goes to show how much the atmosphere and chemistry of a workplace can be improved by removing a cancer.

Poole, Cherbourg, Paris and a close call at Heathrow

23/6 - Poole was a pleasantly familiar place. And since it's relatively small and compact, you run into people on the street quite often, such as Bill. It was fun to catch up with old friends, such as Joanna and Tim. The three of us went out for dinner and drinks, which felt like old times.

Every Tuesday during the summer in Poole, hundreds of motorcycles descend upon the Quay and park in one spot, creating a mass of two-wheeled machines. It never fails to make me envious seeing those bikes, knowing the kind of roads around Poole riders must use to get there. It was a complete coincidence I arrived in Poole on Tuesday, but I certainly don't regret it.

I hopped on the ferry to Cherbourg yesterday morning, another familiar practice. It was foggy and damp in Poole, which was typical English weather. But just like flying, riding the ferry gave me a sense of purpose and accomplishment. Travel in general does that for me.

In Cherbourg I met up and stayed with another former Couchsurfing friend: Marie-Amance. She once again collected me from the ferry terminal in Cherbourg and gave me the key to her flat because she had to return to work for a few hours. Her flat looked just as I remembered it: tiny, cramped kitchen, steep, spiraling staircase that blocks the closet, the second-floor living room and her room on the third floor. It was during these few hours in her flat by myself that were some of the most relaxed I was since coming to Europe last week. It was total bliss to read my book while listing to gentle rain through the wide-open window on the second floor.

Later that evening, Marie-Amance returned home and proceeded to cook dinner out of what little food she had around the kitchen. She made a casserole with tuna, tomatoes and olives, and crepes for dessert along with different jams, syrup and sugar. We spent the evening enjoying the crepes, the conversation and discussing other matters, one of which blew my mind.

Since Marie-Amance will go to England for a year to study at university, she offered to let me stay in her flat for 200 Euros a month while she's gone. That's an incredible opportunity, nevermind the fact I don't speak French or am illegal to work in France. The big question is whether I'd be able to survive there. What would I do for a job if I don't speak French? But, it would be a great opportunity to learn French in a small-ish town in the north of France. It would present some massive challenges, but I'd like to see if I could handle those difficulties.

Cherbourg is a small city, and one with not a lot of opportunity in terms of work, even for French citizens. But it's a quiet, calm place filled with the scent of sea water and the squawks of seagulls. It also has a certain charm to the look of the city. I could see myself living there, but there is much research and thought to be done about that decision.

I went to bed that night in the flat listening to the thunder and heavy rain of that storm, seeing the flashes of light and feeling Marie-Amance's friendly black cat snuggle up next to me on the bed. It was a peaceful moment; in fact, my time in Cherbourg felt safe and familiar, and it was one of those times I made sure to appreciate being in the moment.

After leaving Cherbourg this morning (Thursday), I rode the train three hours to Paris and immediately met up with Magda, my friend from Bournemouth University. This is our second time meeting in Paris, and we also crossed paths in California at the end of last year. Magda lives in a house (more like a mansion, really) in Croissy Sur-Seine, a suburb on the west side of Paris. The home is obviously old, but it's a beautiful place, with three floors and a basement. There is a wide space on the roof to sunbathe during the day and drink under the stars at night.

The tip of the Eiffel Tower can be seen at night, thanks to its revolving spotlight. So with the spotlight periodically shining our way and a near-full moon lighting up the sky above the glow of Paris, I had a short but meaningful conversation with Magda and her roommates on the roof on Thursday. Since the attacks in Paris, people seem to be more aware of their surroundings. I heard stories of people looking others in the eyes while riding the metro, suspicious of who might be the next person to murder others. Just walking around Paris and the metro, and one can see soldiers with assault rifles patrolling metro stations or security guards armed with metal detectors guarding entrances to shopping malls. But, Paris is still a thriving, alive metropolis, a place I'd greatly love to move to.

It's adventures like these that cannot happen in hotels while traveling. I am immensely thankful to have friends in all of these places who are happy to share their homes for a night. I am lucky to be able to stay in these areas and feel so familiar with the cities.

25/6 - It wouldn't be a normal travel day back to Porterville without drama for me. No step went smoothly, starting in Paris and being squashed in rush-hour traffic on the metro. Then, my passport was retained and I was detained in a side area, again, by the UK border patrol before boarding the Eurostar train from Paris to London. It all has to do with the UK student visa; I must find a way to get it out of my passport.

Fortunately they let me through, but the actual train was an hour late by the time we arrived in London at St. Pancras. With the hour-long tube ride into Heathrow, this meant I had about 90 minutes to check in, get through security and find my gate. Luckily, I checked my bag about three minutes before the cut-off time of one hour before the flight. Talking to the lady at check-in revealed she loves this kind of thrill and adrenaline rush as well.

After getting through light security, I got a bite to eat before going to the gate. However, I misjudged how far my gate was, which was about 15 minutes away on foot when I had just 25 minutes before the flight left. So with my passport in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, and a heavy backpack, I sprinted the way to my gate. I had never had that close of a call with a flight, besides the time I completely missed my flight from Barcelona.

To top it all off, when I got onto the plane I found out the flight was delayed by about 50 minutes. You can imagine the surge of annoyance I experienced for making that kind of effort, all for naught.

Currently I'm about 30 miles from Bakersfield, CA, my adventure almost complete. I have never, and will never, regret traveling. It always ends up memorable in some way. Here's to the next one (though I have nothing planned for the future).

Revelations, England and a new understanding

1/6 - After talking with a friend today, she helped me reach more enlightenment about myself: I love control.

This is why I enjoy traveling. What it really boils down to, I enjoy the control of going where I want, when I want. I love the planning. I love controlling how I get there and in which fashion. That's why I enjoy traveling alone, because I don't have to cede control to another person. That's why I'm rarely stressed when I travel by myself: I'm the one making decisions.

10/6 - I'm beginning to understand what I really want to do with my life. I desire a career working in international relations. For example, this whole week I was looking forward to a job interview with the British Consulate in Los Angeles. This would have been for a position called Politics and Public Information Officer.

Unfortunately, the recruiter did not call me when I thought she would. I got my hopes up fantasizing about having a career that would involve international relations, traveling, living in a big city, etc. I felt cheated when the recruiter didn't call. I was angry. I was depressed. I was dumbfounded. All day yesterday I couldn't get out of that haze of disappointment.

But, within the past few minutes I have had another epiphany. I was so upset about that situation because this is what I want to do with my life. I saw an opportunity I dearly wanted, and it passed me by. Out of disappointment comes realization and enlightenment. I have a new purpose and goal. This has given me a new fire and enabled me to cheer up considerably. A career within the international community is something that fits me perfectly, and that is where my focus will be. I think joining the United Nations is a suitable goal.

In other news, my trip to England is coming up quickly. I still only have a rough plan of what I'll do after leaving London. I know I want to take the train to Poole to stay with an old friend and then take the ferry to Cherbourg, and eventually a train to Paris where I will meet another friend from Poole.

I am still trying to find a host for my first night in London, and I still need to buy tickets for the trains and ferries. But I'm looking forward to another adventure and to meet up with some old friends.

13/6 - It's the eve of another adventure. I fly to England tomorrow! Most of my plans are relatively solid, but I still don't have a place to stay at in London Tuesday evening. And in Paris, I'll stay with Magda, an old friend from Bournemouth who now lives in Paris. This'll be another long travel day, as I will drive from Sacramento to Porterville and then Los Angeles in the morning. Here's to travel.

Also, Nikolaj and Edward go home to Denmark and Norway on Tuesday because their exchange program has ended. It has been excellent to get to know them. But they are now legitimate travelers, and it is their duty to host other travelers when needed. They are a part of this community now.

14/6 - Well, I have a hostel in London for my first night there. But I'm going into this trip a little bit unprepared because I still haven't informed my bank that I'm going overseas, as of this writing. Perhaps that's why I can't buy a Eurostar ticket yet.