It feels awfully peculiar knowing that I won’t be in dangerous territories, that I won’t be eating Parisian pastries for a month, that I won’t be lost in some horrible city where I don’t speak the language. That is the kind of thing I thrive on…I’m going to start furiously googling colleges and things to do in America that might be a bit off the beaten path. Maybe I’ll hike the Grand Canyon. Or perhaps I will drive to Mexico City! Or maybe I’ll rent a shack on a beach and write a book? Or maybe I’ll do none of this and learn to enjoy relaxation and the luxury of an empty schedule. I don’t know. We’ll see.

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Every summer I have a purpose, a goal, an intent. This summer, I don’t have that. And it’s making me absurdly stressed out. I have places I could go and things I could see, but there is nothing pulling me to a new continent. Romania did for a spell, and it still does, but I’m trying to be fiscally responsible. That’s why I’m not going, and that’s why I’m not going to UCLA. Will somebody please give me buckets of money? It’s for a good cause. I’ll buy a cute archaeological wardrobe and take intense courses and be a better Ben. But until then, I’ll just be the same me in very nice shoes.

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