I live a safe life. Today as I was driving to work, it occured to me that I live my life in a bubble.
I exist in a suburban bubble. I live in a small town. I work in another small town. To get from my small town to the small town I work in, I drive on an interstate through small towns.
I am starting to feel claustrophobic. It’s not that I’m dissatisfied with my life. I love my job. I love my friends. I love the trajectory that my life is on.
But my hands are clean. I’ve not built anything, dug anything, wiped snot off a kid’s nose in too long. I’ve not had terrible mission food that has less flavor than the plate on which it’s served. I’ve not suffered from sleep deprivation because of the crazy people with whom I am rooming. I’ve not had a new stamp on my passport since a few days before 09/11.
I’m looking for an opportunity to do a short term trip this summer. I’m considering looking into one of the trafficking groups, perhaps? I can hug, cry, listen with the best of ’em. I need my myopic world view to be expanded. I need to be reminded tangibly that Small Town, USA is not the only world.
Life would be so much easier if I were satisfied being comfortable. For me and for those who care about me.