Communication has become an addiction, I fear. Waking this morning, I realized that the wi-fi in the apartment was not working. I felt a clutch at my heart. Not able to check the news? Not able to check my email? It felt like part of myself was missing. This is not a healthy feeling.
I'm not even someone who is always texting or on the phone. I don't get a million emails, I'm not a social media junkie, I'm not on Facebook and I don't tweet. But cut off my bandwidth and I'm a nervous wreck. Sounds like addiction to me.
When we first started traveling many, many, many (enough already!) years ago, we relied on snail mail sent to American Express offices in cities along our expected trajectory. If we changed our plans we missed our mail. That first trip was for seven months and my family back home and we sent each other audio tapes so we could connect at a deeper level than a mere letter or postcard. International phone calls were prohibitively expensive but we phoned once a month just to assure the folks at home that we were still alive, on a Greek island where you had to book a phone call in advance, or in the Paris post office where you had to go to the desk, be assigned a calling booth and return to the desk to pay at the end. No Skyping on those days.
As you can see, my wi-fi came back. A great sigh of relief and I headed straight for this blog. I guess connecting with you was one of the things I need to do.
Photos are at www.instagram.com/shellioreck