The wheels on the bus go round and round for 30 hours

I’m on the final leg of a 30 hour bus ride to the end of the world, and as I look out the window I cant help but laugh. Where the hell am i? How the hell did this all happen? How did I get this lucky?

I have brief moments of clarity. Times when I realize what it is Im exactly doing on this trip. Times when everything slows down so much that I can appreciate every color in front of me and every smell surrounding me. Points where I can remove myself from it all. See myself from a Google Earth kind of view. Me a pin on a map, traveling the world. Then there are the other times, when it all mixes together into far too much input for my brain to compute making me want to hurl.

It’s absolutely amazing to think that my feet will have traveled to the end of the world. Who would have thought that? Not me. Not in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d be in Patagonia. I mean who goes there other than multimillionaire explorers and polar bears, and yet here I am, rapidly approaching the mountains, lakes, and plains just a little outside of the end of it all. Its incredible. I feel small and huge at the same time. I feel the vastness of the sky and begin to understand the stretches of land that roll out endlessly to the horizon. I’m beginning to understand silence, and starting to recognize it has a smell, and I love it all.

My feet are at the end of the world. The feet that have walked me through my life to get to this point. Through bad haircuts and worse outfits. Terrible relationships and one that has opened the world to me. Through the challenges of my childhood and the wonders of actually growing up. Through the tests, and the classes, and the part time jobs, and the unemployement, and the countless cities (Miami, Atlanta, NY, Chicago, Los Angeles, and San Francisco).To the losing and the finding of God. All to get here. The end of the world and not a minute too soon.