I have spent my life wandering: a tourist in the lives of others. I have become culturally homeless, absorbing the attributes and customs of the countries and the people harbouring me. I carry my anchor up and never look back to a place where it once lay temporarily moored. Each port is free of me, and though someday I may drunk-dial and stay the night, I’ll be gone in the morning.

This life has made me a wiser man: a mariner of the sea of humanity. I see the flaws in your life, and I will subtly help you to share in what I have learned. I know your long-distance relationship will fail. I know you’ll regret listening to your father and studying engineering instead of art. I know your religion is hurting you more than it’s helping. I know the plans you make now don’t mean a thing because they’ll change later. I know you want to have an adventure. I know you.

Face your fears and step off the cliff with me. Jump naked from the top of the waterfall. Swim closer to the shark. Hug the tiger. Eat the mushrooms. Talk to the girl. Write down what you dream. Write down something true.

I thought this life had made me a wiser man, but I never really learned. I was always waiting for a chance to prove my findings wrong, so when I met you, I set down my anchor, ready to ignore what advice I would have given to others. But you cut through the rope and set me adrift. Now my anchor is rusting on the ocean floor, and I don’t know how to stop again even if I wanted to.