The heavy weight of a backpack on my shoulders, a dusty road ahead of me and people talking to me in a language I don't understand. Feeling completely lost at a place I'm not sure how to pronounce correctly. The wind blowing through my hair, while sitting in a tiny rickshaw trying to take it all in. All of it, every single little part. Not wanting to miss anything, clinging to moments, hoping they never end.
Feeling complete, with no money, no one else there, no phone, no nothing. Just by being right there. Being. Maybe for the first time ever I am right in this very moment. No where else to be, no better things to do, nothing in the back of my head. Wondering how anything could have ever felt difficult and heavy when life is, in fact, so beautiful.

Skin dirty with the reddish looking sand, a reminder of the past 20 hours spent in a bus with open windows. The feeling of a new bed in a new town I've never been to, that feels more like home already than anything else I have ever known. The taste of Indian food shared with 10 other people at a long table, overlooking the Ganges river. A streetdog that as been following me for the past 4 days and the look on its face when I return from a day trip. Sitting underneath a huge tree in the middle of the jungle listening to tales of Ganesha and Kali while monkeys are screaming over my head. That moment when I turn a street and find myself eye to eye with the most beautiful cow you can imagine.
Every single moment. It all counts. I miss it so much.