How many times have you read a travel article and imagined the glamourous life of the writer, who gets paid to explore far-flung places? A dream job. A life of vacation. What could be better?
As I sit down to write this article, irony slaps me. I have writer’s block. And jet lag. So I do what any good writer would do: unload the dishwasher, answer emails, pay bills, stare out the window, check Facebook, write down a list of 23 countries I’ve visited in the last three years, look at my own Instagram photos and am amazed.
My life is a bit of a blur. A shelf in my closet is full of tiny spiral-bound notebooks that can tuck in the side pocket of my travel pants. Hectic scribbles from around the world fill the well-worn pages, capturing fleeting details before they get lost in the mosaic of my brain.
I once counted 26 stops during a 16-hour day on a media tour. I stumbled into my hotel room after dinner and wanted to fall into bed, but emails demanded answers and a deadline was looming, so I propped open my eyelids and filed a story using spotty wifi under the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The next morning when my alarm went off after five hours of sleep, I blinked up at the ceiling, forgetting what country I was in.
Not exactly like sipping an umbrella-drink poolside and working on my tan. Read Full article HERE.
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