Passports make me happy

At the beginning of 2011, I made one nerve-wracking trip to the post office. I bought a special envelope, checked to make sure it was tightly sealed about 3-hundred times, and handed it over with trembling hand to be weighed and shipped away. Its contents?

My passport.

My beloved blue book with arrival stamps and visas from exotic locales like El Salvador, Laos and Indonesia.

My proof that I've worked my butt off to travel--and never, ever, ever regretted spending any of those pennies.

I say the word "Travel" and my thumbs go numb with giddy excitement. I look at my suitcase, which is never stored out of sight, and grin a silly grin while imagining what I'd fill it with for whatever dream adventure is flitting through my mind that day. I hear an airplane taking off and can almost feel that whoosh that rushes up my throat whenever I'm the one pushing my nose against the window, watching cars, houses, farms, and mountains shrink into a dot on a map. 

Don't get me wrong. I've been fortunate enough to love every dot on a map that I've called home. Family, friends, jobs, and outdoor opportunities are always a blessing. But I do love to get away. I do love to immerse myself somewhere else. The love of God, family and friends not included, travel may be the thing in this world that makes me happiest. (Coffee and writing are a close second and third.)

And that is why sending my old passport away so I could apply for a new one was so nerve-wracking. What if it got lost? What if my application got mired in the bog of government? For how long would I not be able to leave the country? What if I found a plane ticket for a January weekend in Greece for $90 and couldn't go? Anxious what-ifs filled my mind.

I bought delivery confirmation for my package and checked it every day. I asked my mom if I'd gotten anything in the mail--every day. I looked at my suitcase and worried I may not get to fill it anytime soon--but not every day.

And then it came.

My old passport had two holes punched in the cover but all its colorful pages inked in Spanish, British and Thai were intact.

My new passport was fat with empty pages just waiting to be filled.

Just waiting for me to fill them.

And, dear passport, I write today to assure you I am happy to oblige.