The first time I traveled out of the good ol' USA I was eighteen, and I had no clue what I was getting myself into. Luckily I had an excellent travel mentor who also happened to be my oldest brother. We backpacked across Europe for three months staying with friends who had studied at Austin Peay as exchange students, people my brother had met while he was studying abroad in France, and even strangers who we met on a very unique traveling/hosting app called "Couchsurfing." When I recall this three-month journey there are many things that come to my mind like my first trip to the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, daydreaming in The Louvre, wine tasting in Bourges, touring the Château de Menetou Salon, being absolutely culture-shocked in Amsterdam, strolling the French Riviera in Switzerland, jumping off cliffs into the perfect blue sea in Italy, waking up early on Sunday mornings in Berlin to peruse the open markets, getting drunk for the first time in Ireland, and laying underneath the stars on a beach on the coast of Holland wondering how I arrived there. But aside from all of the incredible sights, the new and exciting food, and constantly running along side my brother to catch our flights/trains there is one thing that I constantly think about now as I recall our adventures. I remember as we moved from city to city, country to country and unpacking/repacking my backpack constantly. Luckily Jason had travelled long before he decided to take me on a trip across the pond with him, so he educated me on packing light despite the length of our trip. He said it was better to have one bag that was small enough to be considered a carry on. My backpack was my trusty companion. It was a hunter green canvas bag with the name "J. McFate" branded across the top, for my brother of course. He lent the backpack to me that semester, and I knew it was a good sturdy bag for traveling. As I looked at each item as I packed and unpacked I became so familiar, and to my surprise, attached to the few items I had with me. It was so carefree to have only a backpack's worth of belongings. When we were ready, leaving one place and heading to next place was easy. For me this was a massive change of pace considering the fact that in my "regular" lifestyle in the states I am a minimalist by no means. And what I came to realize was that I did not value things the same way at home because abundance was the name of the game in my house. I had an abundance of clothes, shoes, books, journals, jewelry, trinkets etc. i had so much in fact that I was not even aware that I had too much of it all. I forgot about things, things blended into each other, and ultimately they all lost their value in the end. But when I was traveling I cherished each item in my bag, and I truly came to recognize this personal phenomenon when my brother and I were in Italy. It was an extremely sweltering summer day. I remember being so content as I looked down at my t-shirt, jean shorts, and my flip flops. Finally I was dressed appropriately for the weather. For the first couple of legs of the journey I looked ridiculous in my shorts and flip flops because it was still a wee bit chilly in other European countries, but in Italy this was exactly the right attire. As we were walking up a burning hot black asphalt hill the strap on my left flip flop snapped, and my foot spilled out onto the boiling ground. At first I simply recoiled because the ground has burned the bottom of my foot, but then I slowly became devastated at my new loss. These flip flops had been through everything with me. Despite their unpractical traveling nature these shoes had scuttled across the cobbled streets of Amsterdam, they had slapped the damp sand on warm beaches at night in Hoek Van Holland, they perused the bustling streets of Paris, they had scaled Notre Dame in the rain! And they were with me through so much more. These ten dollar flip flops were a part of my experience. Jason found this hilarious, and eventually so did I. We laughed together, amazed that these poor shoes had actually made it to the last few weeks of our three month long journey together. As I tossed them in a trash can near by I bid adieu to my trusty companions, the had served their purpose well. I guess my questions now would be: what gives material items in our lives meaning? How do we determine the worth of these items? Do we do it initially when we receive the item, or does the item accumulate worth and meaning as we continue to possess it? Is an abundance of material items in our lives normal/rational? Or does it drastically affect how we value things in a negative way? Over the next few weeks I will be conducting a series of interviews with fellow students, friends, and family asking a different set of questions each week. The questions above and a few more will be answered in the next following articles. Stay tuned!