I sit here at the International Terminal at O’Hare waiting to board my flight to Dubai, where I will get a connecting flight to Delhi and then a taxi to Rishikesh, a journey, which according to Google, is 7,379 miles.
Am I just another maladjusted middle-aged Westerner with only the foggiest notion of myself and desperately seeking meaning in my life?
Of course, I am.
Don’t I know that if I set my mind to it, I can find the same truths in Bolingbrook that I can in India?
Of course, I do.
But it wouldn’t be as adventurous or as cool to talk about.
Each day, I will compose a blog and dedicate it to someone who in my life. My wife is first.