Memoirs of a not very interesting wanderlusting homebody

I love to travel. I also love to be on my couch in my pajamas. Somehow I make it work.

When I was a little girl, I always dreamed of seeing the world. I think I dreamed about it the same way other kids dreamed of it, but I don’t know their dreams. It was mainly wishful thinking.

I even remember a very specific conversation I had with some friends in a bar in a little town in Minnesota about places I’d like to visit. I said, without much weight behind it, “I’d like to live in London someday.” I said it in the same manner that someone might say “Yeah, I guess pizza for dinner would be fine.”

Flash three, maybe four years later and I’m actually living in London. This was not constructed, this was not something I set out to make happen. It all happened because of a boy, a boy I met on Myspace. I like to say we met “accidentally online.” Back then online dating was still a little taboo. It’s not something I would have ruled out, I just would have set my search parameters a bit tighter than 4,000 miles. We met by chance and fell in love before we realized what was happening, it sometimes happens that way. This was in 2006. I’ve been living in London since 2010. Sometimes I feel more British than American, it’s a really weird combination of the both, a bit stretched in between.

I got a bit off track, and now I’ve written a bit too much. I don’t know if anyone will ever read this, or if I even want them to…but on the off chance I do decide I want my ramblings read, I must try to keep the succinct. Today’s generation of buzzfeeding, bullet pointing, gif captioners doesn’t have the patience to read this much.

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