So what was your favorite?

If you’ve ever taken a trip with multiple destinations, you’ve dealt with the sudden onslaught of memories that invade you following this question. The faces of strangers who became friends smile in the places you shared together. Endless landscapes scroll through your mind: panoramas of white-drenched mountains, sparkling beaches, vine-lined jungles. You fall through the air 13,000 feet above the ground. The morning sun blankets you in your hammock on a sugar sand beach. A shark rams his head into the wire cage you’re inside. Hand-in-hand, you spend the day laughing with an orphaned child without understanding a single spoken word.

My favorite what? Place? Experience? Airport I’ve slept in? How can I distinguish between the experiences I had in Africa, the people I met in Tokyo or the flawless beaches of the Philippines, Mediterranean, or Caribbean Islands?

This isn’t my indecisive, scattered little brains fault. Precision of language please! I’m not sure a specific-enough way to ask this question even exists. Are moments in life that quantifiable?

How long have I been wading here in my memories since they asked me this question? My neurons fire and jump between years and continents at lightning speed and I can’t pull myself away from this movie I created. The adventure, the romance, the mystery and thrills all set to a continuous soundtrack of laughter and gratitude.

The world is my favorite.

 

 

“Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.”  ―Jack Kerouac

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