"I'm crossing the gap on my way home. Above my head just sky and stone. Cross the river from the Jersey side. At the end of a long, long ride."

Beijing, China

I stare out the window. My own music blares in my ears. I can't hear the people passing by. No matter, they speak neither English nor Mongolian. No one pays notice to me. An American in China is no strange thing. Beijing is no Omnodelger. The airport itself could swallow my little town whole. These thoughts seem minor compared to the destination at hand.

Home.

Its never seemed so exotic. Like the roles of the two major places in my life have been flipped. In my impending days before departing for Mongolia I daydreamed of my life there. How I'd live, things I'd do, and people I'd meet. Now the days leading up to this moment have been filled of daydreams of America. Food, friends and family, good beer, warm showers. Places I used to frequent and people I used to share company with. Would it all still be there? Would I see the USA through new eyes? Would people think me different? Most daunting of all, how could I ever begin to share my experiences to those back home I care most about? How could I make them understand? Make Mongolia not just a place on a map anymore? The anticipation of seeing those I loved again burned my brain and kept me awake. I gazed out the window, watching the ground crew prep the massive 777 aircraft that would carry me across the Pacific Ocean.
Carry me across continents.
Carry me home.