The American

February ended and even though I only worked twenty two hours, I managed to raise $79 (5% of ~$1500) for Cystic Fibrosis and the CFRI's Annual Retreat.  It's not a bad yield considering my pathetically low volume, and while I'd have liked to contribute more I'm happy that there's at least some money going to a good cause.

For the last few weeks I've been in America, house-sitting for my parents who oddly enough are vacationing in very hemisphere I flew in from.  In that time I've caught up with a few of my friends and those conversations have caused me to spend a lot of time reflecting about two things.

I've mapped out the next few months of my life; I'm in the United States through the middle of April, travel back to Thailand until mid August, and then return to America for the remainder of August and all of September.  After that?  Not a clue.  I could list the options, but there's so much I could do and the only progress I've made is whittling that list down to five continents.  In theory, it's pretty cool.  "I regret traveling so much and exploring different parts of the world when I was younger," said no one ever.  But as I enter my third year of living abroad, I'm faced with the harsh realization that while I'm not in the U.S., life here goes on without me.

Maybe 'harsh realization' is the wrong phrase.  It's not like I thought when I returned to America that everything would be exactly the same, I guess I'm just surprised that everything seems so different.  While I've been immersing myself in a new culture and occasionally clicking buttons, friends of mine are continuing to progress in their own lives -- both personally and professionally.  I won't go through my friend list and name their accomplishments, but one example sticks out.  When I left for Vancouver in 2011, a friend of mine was living with his girlfriend in Sacramento, California.  Now, less than two years later, he's bought a new house, got married, and had a kid.  And since I live so far away, I don't get to witness the progression on the normal scale.  At times it feels as if everyone else gets to see a movie while I'm forced to look at a few still pictures, commemorating important events in the plot line.

I suppose it's not a poker thing.  It's more of a living abroad thing.  And a growing up thing.  The only relation to poker is that it begs me to ask the following question: Assuming online poker remains illegal in the U.S., how long will I continue to play?  I don't know.  Certainly I hope the question is irrelevant soon and recent legislation makes me optimistic.  Friends of mine have asked if/when I'd follow online poker once it returned to the U.S. markets and I'm fairly sure I would...eventually.  Despite missing out on so much back home, I can't forget about the incredibly eye-opening, breath taking experiences I've been able to have while out of the country.  And I know that if I moved back to the U.S., I'd miss those too.