Every now and then, buried beneath the rubble of ramblings that constitute this blog, a sliver of truth pierces the otherwise banal and the bland.
Wait! That didn’t come out right, particularly given my goal is to amaze and amuse on a regular basis. Banal and bland are the antithesis of amaze and amuse. I will cop to rambling, though. That’s quite evident at this point.
Let’s just say travel is my muse, literary license my ruse for dispensing amazing information and amusing introspection.
There! That sounds better.
Better yet, I’ve assembled a collection of those hard-earned truths you so graciously encouraged me to share via your continued support. What follows, in no particular order, is the best of the wit, wisdom, wonder, and whimsy I dispensed in 2015 via A Place Called Roam.
Sometimes I amaze even myself.
Wait! That didn’t come out right, particularly given my goal is to amaze and amuse on a regular basis. Banal and bland are the antithesis of amaze and amuse. I will cop to rambling, though. That’s quite evident at this point.
Let’s just say travel is my muse, literary license my ruse for dispensing amazing information and amusing introspection.
There! That sounds better.
Better yet, I’ve assembled a collection of those hard-earned truths you so graciously encouraged me to share via your continued support. What follows, in no particular order, is the best of the wit, wisdom, wonder, and whimsy I dispensed in 2015 via A Place Called Roam.
Sometimes I amaze even myself.
Click on the accompanying picture to access the full post associated with each quote.
 | I came away from my stroll through Keukenhof Gardens humbled at how adept the flowers were at making the most of the moment, particularly given those moments often added up to just days; and yes, I followed their lead and let myself go. I was blooming mad with joy. |
| I have no regrets. What I have is a better understanding of what it means to be a citizen of the world in an age of digital decadence. Obsessive digital documentation never begets a better story. If anything, the obsession becomes a barrier to the real story. |  |
 | That spire was the one constant in an otherwise dizzying and delightful mix of the past and the present. I understood with a new awareness the comfort bestowed when faith is part of the journey. |
| Finally, somebody who understands “the outer spatters of the emotional palette;” those feelings for which there is no word in the English language to capture the wild sorrows, exquisite joys, and confusing thoughts that seep into my head from time to time. |  |
 | Apparently, when it was all said and done, which happens too soon, much too frequently, foregoing or delaying travel is a big regret. |
| Anybody living in the shadow of a BIG sister knows exactly what I’m talking about. |  |
 | I think about my father waiting, alone and frightened of what's at the end of the line. I think about the peace that comes with forgiveness, with unconditional love, about the comfort my father has found in reconnecting with his kids. Perhaps that’s what the wait is really all about – the chance to get it right before the end of the line. |
| And while our destination offered a stunning view of the geological mysteries of the last six million years undulating across the plains as far as the eye could see, it should come as no surprise that the real story was in the journey rather than the destination. |  |
 | We are all made of stardust, each and every one of us divine light in the dark matter of the Cosmos. |
| “What?” Vivian bantered from across the dinner table. “You thought people only had sex at night?” |  |
 | I suppose that’s why nature touches my soul so, no season more so than autumn, so glorious and poignant the celebration of life. The life lessons are the same year after year – courage, grace, resilience, change, letting go. |
| Although not always pleasant reading, history is always enlightening when we’re willing to look beyond our own interests/noses. We are all connected, all life on this planet. Forget that, and we are all doomed. |  |
 | To every season there is a purpose, and a time for every purpose. . . Ecclesiastes 3: 1 For now, time has seen fit to cast me as talisman for my children and their children; I'm proof that every season has meaning, every person, whatever the season, has value. |
| They were wise old souls harboring the night and the magic of a million points of light. Gently falling snow added wonder and a hush to our very own snow-globe experience. |  |
 | I could see order where there was once chaos, mystery where by day innocuous buildings had simply stood shoulder to shoulder stoically harboring humanity. |
| Holy history! Time can be such a brutal beast. |  |
 | We are all Olympians, those of us who choose to be the light against the dark. That is my mantra for 2016. |
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