Next month the wife and I are taking a trip to Australia. I'm calling it my pilgrimage. She's never been Down Under and I was born and part-raised there. There will be a family reunion of sorts, and no doubt hundreds of photos, hours of video footage, and a load of memories for us upon our return as well.
The last time I made my bed in Australia I was fifteen and it was 1991. For whatever reasons I have not been 'home' since. I'm a man now, and I was a kid then. I don't really have too much in common anymore with the boy I used to be, but I miss him all the same. Especially the big hair - I really dug that look!
Sometimes I wonder what kind of man he would have grown into under that sunny Sydney sky, had life taken him on another journey. I'm not talking about regret, or 'gee-I-wish-my-life-had-turned-out-differently': I'm talking about Gwyneth Paltrow in Sliding Doors. Boom! First time around I went left, but you know what? This time I'm going right.
...I'd probably still be writing though.
Do I wish I had taken the road less travelled? No, I do not.
Have my childhood memories been air-brushed by the passage of time? Maybe, but I don't really think that matters.
Will I have a quiet moment of reflection when I'm there, while I remember the Antipodean teenager I used to be?