In a few days, I leave for Germany.  I’ll meet up with my Mom and younger brother, who are already there. For the first week, we’ll be staying with relatives.  Then we’ll travel to Austria, just the three of us, and see what we can see.

I’m excited about the trip, of course. In my mind, this trip will be full of adventure. We have some cousins who are going to show us around. My brother loves to visit castles, including the Neuschwanstein Castle that Disney’s Sleeping Beauty castle is modeled after. So I know I’ll be tromping up and down a lot of castle steps and taking in what I hope will be breathtaking views. I wonder who I will meet, how far my teensy bit of German can take me, how do people react to Americans these days, what kind of food will I eat, and can my Mom, my brother and I get along with each other for two weeks?

Part of my anticipation is thinking about all the wonderful experiences I will have to write about. I picture myself at the end of each day, writing in my little notebook before I go to bed, thinking profound thoughts and making acute observations about Germany or Austria vs. the United States. I’ll find inspiration in the people, the scenery, the culture, the cuisine, the architecture, etc., etc., etc.

Then I wonder — why is it so hard to come up with things to write about when you’re living your day to day life? On my better days, I remind myself to be observant and try to find something new each day. I’d love to say it happens a lot, but you know, if I notice something new once a week, I’m doing good. Not because every day is exactly the same, but I do get caught up in routine, and sometimes it takes the exceptionally dramatic to get me to look up and take note. But I’m so certain everything will be shiny, wonderful, interesting, eye-opening and worth commenting on when I’m over in Europe. Because, well, because I’ll be someplace different. I’ll wake up in a different bed, travel different roads, hear different languages.

I have lots of other thoughts about traveling that I won’t get into now. Fears, for instance. I could probably list a dictionary’s worth of fears. Some of those fears are forcing me to notice and be grateful for what I have here, and to let the people around me know I love and treasure them. But dang it, I still sit here wondering – what the heck can I write about?

We’ve all heard it before — absence makes the heart grow fonder.  I’m sure my travels will introduce me to the new, but I hope they will also make home look new to me, too, and what doesn’t change will maybe just be more precious to me because I missed it while I was over there.