About that book I've been meaning to write...

I am just back from two trips to Newfoundland.

A random ad popped up on my Facebook page in March. I followed the link to their tourism site. Once. Twice. Three times. And then I booked a trip. I had no idea what was in store.

The first trip was in July and filled with icebergs, whales, beautiful villages, magical people, a special boat captain and the occasional moose encounter. The second was to convince myself that I really saw what I did the first time around.

In August the icebergs were gone, but the whales were everywhere. Some days I stopped counting at 30. I dug a little deeper into the villages I’d found and discovered quirky, new villages even more remote. I got better acquainted with some Newfoundlander friends and met new characters.

And now I’m hooked.

There’s something special about waking up in a place, having no idea what the day holds, but sure it will be filled with adventures.

These are not the kind of adventures I’m used to but I’ve changed. I didn’t once miss the fact that no one was shooting at me, or trying to blow me up. Still, I managed a few scrapes, including driving my rental car off a cliff and out-running a wolf who came racing out of the woods towards me.

The trips have inspired me to finally start “the book”. The one I’ve been meaning to write my entire middle-aged life. I always thought it would revolve around wars, and my encounters with history, and my injuries.

Now, as central as all of that is to my life, I’ve think I’ve found a new lead character.