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9 January 2000--San Francisco, California Today has been quite odd. We flew this morning from Atlanta (thanks again Bill for the early morning ride) and, with the time change, were quickly able to settle into our $34 a night hostel room at Union Square, and begin exploring the city by 3:00pm. But all awhile, I felt a strange dislocation, and was comforted to later learn that Kelly was similarly affected. Things just did not seem right. It is true that this is our first day back on the road for who knows how many months. so perhaps it is merely a not so unusual adjustment to recommencing our life of travel. It is also true that a wonderful holiday season has just ended, and we were experiencing the natural let-down from those experiences. And perhaps, having just left loved ones, we were suffering the post-separation malaise that invariable accompanies the conclusion of such visits. Or maybe, just maybe, it was guilt. While all our friends in Atlanta and elsewhere were living their lives, being responsible, going to work, and otherwise contributing to the GNP, here we were, frolicking around the world with nary a care to concern us. Perhaps we felt guilty at the decision we made and the fun we were having. Psychologists often speak of "Survivor's guilt", where someone who has survived a tragedy while others perished often suffers through severe depression and guilt at having survived. "It should have been me to die" is a common refrain. Perhaps we were suffering a perverse strain of this affliction, guilty that we should be back in Atlanta working..."It should have been me working that weekend." Or maybe we missed life in Atlanta, and we were slowly realizing that life on the road is often lonely and empty. Perhaps we began to understand that our travels were an escape from a reality we found difficult to deal with--perhaps we should be asking ourselves "what is it that we are running from? Actually, strike all of the above nonsense. I now, as I compose this, realize what it was. It was the jet lag.
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