So I grew up in a small town in the middle of Illinois, like right in the middle.

Like fold a map of the state in quarters and there you are, middle.

The town had about 17,000 people, a couple of factories, corn and soybean fields.

I had friends who lived on real farms.

I did not grow up going places. My parents were not travelers. The only trip we would take was the same five-hour car ride to see my

grandparents in their small town, in Missouri. So when I think about why I always wanted to leave my

town, I think it's because I hardly ever left my town.

I was thinking about this in Mexico recently. I was with some friends from high school, trying to

figure out how I ended up the way I am, this restless wanderer who by now has been to 54 countries, many of

them places most tourists would not go.

It's not like there's anything wrong with my town.

I still go back.

I'm one of those people who looks forward to the high school reunion.

But I think the real reason I had to leave and that maybe I made a life out of leaving

was when I was a kid, that town was my whole world.

And even when I was running up the jungle gym at the Catholic school

singing, don't you want me baby by the Human League,

I knew there had to be more to it than that.

Of course, I had no idea what I was going to get myself into.

A transcendental experience in San Francisco.

Dinner with a former child soldier in Cambodia.

Finding out I was pregnant in Saudi Arabia.

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