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Traveling is about growth, some told me.   So, how much have I grown?

If this is growth, it’s slow and painful, I guess.

If it isn’t, it’s slow and painful.

The day after my wallet was stolen, I was all up and ready to welcome the experiences of Montenegro.  Sure, that’s the right kind of optimism that’s good for me and praised by all, and that was yesterday.  And today, I’m no longer sure.

I guess the question has lurked there for some time in an unhealthy way.  Am I doing the right thing? Am I traveling still for the right reasons? Is the meaning of traveling still valid to my life and existence?

(And a not so substantial side note: how the bank balance dropped recently is somewhat alarming.)

To be practical, I’ll try to hang on there and make it more than hanging on there.  I just hope I can figure out something in Colombia… As for now, I still can’t quite figure out.


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