I think I’m getting “museum fatigue.” Like being at the end of a long day at the museum, when I sometimes get so burnt out I start blowing through the last few wings without much stopping to give any art its due. I just want to finish and get to the end, complete it…
I’ve hit that same threshold, but with towns. Flavors are getting dullened. I need a rest from exciting sights and exotic mystique. I can feel autopilot kicking in.

Meanwhile, I am on the night train to Marrakech. Sealed in a boxcar and chatting it up with an Australian, traveling for the first time, out for 3 weeks, a gift from his wife whom he married straight out of high school 13 years ago. I must sound like an Amway salesman with a pitch. I’ve spent the last hour trying to convince him to not let go of the dream he gave up on. It is obvious he tricked himself out of it long ago. Working a manual labor, tiling job, day in and day out, to support his family, like he should, but he self-extinguished his own secret dream… I gave him too many reasons why he HAD to still go for it, and how this dream of his could easily be fulfilled in unexpected ways that he never considered… and how it was his duty, and obligation as a father to hand down to his kids that legacy of his TRYING… even if it doesn’t get fulfilled exactly as he envisioned it, the spirit of him not giving up will plant seeds in his kids to do the same later on…

He seemed changed and excited to try. New light was coming out of him. New fire. Go forth. Right on, brother, right on.