Ever since I can remember, I have felt a pull towards travel. It was intrinsic, instinctual: an invisible string wrapped around my heart and tugging me towards… something, someday.

I’m going to throw up. I’m going to throw up, and while I’m at it, I may as well just die, too. I may die. Logically speaking, I could die. It’s not off the table.

If the first day—and in this instance, “day” is sort of a blurred concept. First twenty-four hours, perhaps—of this trip was going to be all that my time in Costa Rica amounts to, I, without a doubt, would not have come.

In the spirit of keeping it real, there are a lot of times that I have doubts and mixed emotions about the path I’m on right now.

This magnet again asks me: “A year from now, what will you wish you had done today?” And honestly, magnet, great question. What the hell am I doing?