There are places I never thought I would go growing up. Why would I ever see the Alps? The rock of Gibraltar? Why would I ever be in Cape Cod?
We grow up in Indiana and we hear about places we will never see. No time for travel when you marry your college sweetheart and buy a house at 22. Oh you will see places when your children are older. You will save the money and bring them to Paris and they will see the Louvre. They will pick apart their food and ask for pizza. When you are old and they are up out of college and the house, maybe you will fly to Egypt and see the pyramids. Maybe you will go to Rome and see the Colosseum with your wife and your walker. Take your shriveled picture in front of Stone Henge. Your old blue eye will drop a tear as you thank god you saw this thing before you die.
I may not be old. I probably will not be old. But god the slow big snowflakes in silent Provincetown on the spider leg trees creeping around the New England houses in the tiny streets as I sit and drink coffee and write a new world and the wind by the grey crashing Atlantic on the footprintless beach or chess with heavy wooden pieces in the dimlit bar that is older than anyone you ever met in your family. It is enough to be twenty-five and beautiful and here.
I must be doing something right.