In search of the present

My journey begins in Madrid, Spain. Wait, I take that back. It actually starts where all international travel begins and ends: the airport. In my case, I've spent most of the day sitting at the busiest airport in the United States, Atlanta's Hartsfield International Airport, preparing my blog and watching people. When my hands aren't busy and more than once I've been caught staring, I find the airport is the perfect place for me to close my eyes and just think.

It seems only appropriate that my thoughts come back to travel. I've made this trip three times now. On the first trip, I had no idea what adventures awaited me on the other side of the Atlantic. I remember having to turn my back on my mother during our final goodbye, just to keep from changing my mind and going back home. The second time, I decided to take her with me, and we spent two weeks exploring Madrid and Andalucia. If my first trip to Spain represented an unknown future, the second united my present with my past; and my mother finally met me in Spanish. On this trip, I'd like to think that I'm in search of the present. I know where I'm going and I know where I've been, but now is the time to figure out why. Why Spanish? Why literature? Why look for oneself a half a world away from home?

Jet lagged but as determined as always, I hope to spend the next month answering these questions and just maybe finding the key to the present.