Some call me a hobo

It looks like I got my hobo leanings early in life. That's Mick the Dad, Cindy the Mom, Andy the brother and me...the little squirt in the flannel shirt.

Another year for Halloween, my family and I went as the Three Blind Mice and the Farmer's Wife. Good times.

WHERE I AM: In my folks’ basement. In my old room.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Went to my folks’ church and reconnected with some old friends I hadn’t seen in a while. Took a nap. Finished moving into my folks’ basement. (Thank you, Mom and Dad, for taking me back. It won’t be for long…hopefully.) Had an awesome dinner of bratwurst, sauerkraut, scalloped potatoes, salad, garlic bread and pumpkin pie. Yummy!
WHAT I’M DRINKING: Right now, surprisingly, nothing.
WHERE I’M GOING TOMORROW: Just finalizing everything for my departure. Packing, making calls, re-packing, checking the list…again.

I am a journalist. I like questions, and I like those questions to have answers. Preferably, I like those answers to be witty, quotable and clean.
Who: Some call me a brave girl. I remind them the line between bravery and stupidity is thin. I am just a girl – granted, one who loves adventure. Lately, I’ve been called a hobo.
What: I am riding the rails into the great unknown. Or something like that. I bought a 30-day unlimited Amtrak pass, and I’m going to see where it takes me.
When: I leave in two days.
Where: Denver, Boston, the coast of Maine, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, Philadelphia, my Grampa’s stomping grounds, Pittsburgh, West Virginia, Chicago, Kalispell, Seattle, Portland and the Oregon coast, Sacramento, San Francisco, Yosemite, home.
Why: That’s the tough one. The quick answer is because I can. I’ve got the money, the time, the freedom.
The real answer is a lot more complicated.
Some have asked me if I’m running away from something. Yes, that’s possible.
Some wonder if I’m searching for my soul. No, but I am searching for what fires my soul.
Some think I am looking for love. Aren’t we all? I only hope I look for God first. I only hope I give love before demanding it in return.
This journey is not really my own. It is God’s. He called me to it months ago, and I am simply following. I don’t know where, exactly, I’m going, or whom I will meet or how it will all come together. I just know I’m supposed to go.
That makes the answer to the “why” question messy. But I’m okay with that. As my pastor told me just days ago, God’s missions don’t require explanations.
I hope you’re all okay with that.
It keeps it exciting anyway. And I, for one, can’t wait to see where this hobo goes.