If you know me at all, you know that I incessantly ask questions. It might be about the flora flying by as we drive down the road and whether or not it is specific to this region. It might be about you personally or about your thoughts on love, power, or the Spanish Inquisition. The deluge of questioning I offer can sometimes be annoying to those around me. I understand why. In fact, as a child in school I can remember being told to allow someone else to ask a question. I can also remember being told to let someone else answer a question, but that's a thought for another time.
It doesn't take much to pique my interest and when I'm in a foreign country, my curiosity is at full throttle. I want to know if a princess can become queen even if she's a commoner. I want to know why the parliament and the government are considered to be two different things. I want to know what's so special about a crumpet. I want to know how to make tea the way Brits do. So, I ask questions. Tons. And, somehow my sister Tiffany and the supervisor for my internship, Jenny, are withstanding the barrage. The nice thing is that I'm a quick learner, so as I get into a groove my questions become more refined, though probably not less in number.
Even sitting alone on a train staring out the window, I find myself wondering what it is that makes someone want to become an conductor/engineer. Suddenly, I'll snap back to reality and realize I've been following that train (ahem) of thought for the last thirty minutes and nearly missed my stop. I really only need a moment of wondering to find myself wandering in a world of questions.
I love to think. I love people. And, I love, love to figure things out. There's something about this time here that is allowing me to do all these things in a gratifying way. It's like I can think a little clearer since I know I'm only here for a set period of time. And, in that clarity, I have time for adventure.
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