Well, here we go again. This has been my fifth trip to the airport this year. Just when I put away my suitcase I’m pulling it out again.

Today I’m on my way to Vietnam. For the next two weeks I’ll be touring Ho Chi Minh City, Ha Noi, Ha Long Bay, Phu Quoc island, as well as Angkor Wat and Phenom Penn in Cambodia.

My parents think I’m all-out crazy. I think it’s a slight chemical imbalance as a result of the two head injuries I sustained as a toddler because my mom was too busy supporting our family with her craft business while my dad was in med school to adequately watch me. I just point to the two huge scars on my forehead and mouth the words, “Not my fault. You should have kept a better eye on me.”

Despite my disability from child neglect, my compulsive travel may simply be an addiction to adrenaline. I get the same high jumping on an airplane that some people do jumping off one. And the more exotic the destination, the higher the jump.

So I can’t really say if this is ever going to stop. Maybe when I get really sick, or I run out of money, or when I’m finally kidnapped into the Albanian slave trade. (I hope I at least got for a high price.)

But just as the skydiver always has an inner feeling of relief and gratitude when his feet safely touch the earth, so do I when I look out the window and I see the Wasatch mountains as the plane starts it’s decent to the Salt Lake City airport. I love making it back home safely. Maybe that’s what I’m really addicted to.