I had put off my trip to India twice. The first time, I blamed it on my job at NYU. The second time, I blamed it on a dying relative who did not exist. On both occasions I lied. When my boss asked me to go, I was out of excuses. As a freelancer for an online Hindu magazine who had written dozens of profiles of prestigious yogis, Swamis, and the nuances of Indian culture, it was my professional duty. Still, I was terrified.
'Are you going home, or leaving home?' she asked, as she sat down in the seat next to me. My mind was miles away, (about 11,000 to be exact) studying the outline of the Wasatch Mountains from the view of the airplane window. Spanning almost 160 miles, they are the western most tip of the greater Rocky Mountains, and have served as the background scenery to most of the events in my life.