On the pages of a pocket-sized artificial-leather-bound journal, I purposefully scribbled the words:

Find the like-minded. Laugh. Write. Be uncomfortable. Be delighted.
Travel. Travel. Travel

I sat alone in the wee Belgian hours, nursing a Dubbel at a hostel bar. A bar cloaked in rich aged wood, adorned with all varieties of dreary-eyed hostelers, as the waves of travel-day fatigue ebbed and flowed through me like a rare and delicious drug. The memories of a day well lived lingered richly in my mind. Waking in a familiar country, in familiar surroundings often falls short of inspiring valuable insight. To taste the utterly unfamiliar, an ocean or two distant, is sweet poison.

As I relished the medieval view, seen through sagging, distorted window panes, I wondered what undertaking could be more valuable, rewarding, or outright worthy of launching one’s self into without second thought, or fear.

If you share this view, literally or figuratively, I hope you’ll come along for the ride. My name is Douglas. This is the ongoing story of The Nominal Wanderer. These are my wanderings.



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