January 8, 2015 – St. Paul, Minnesota

Well, I didn’t plan on this.

I clench my teeth as the phlebotomist performs venipuncture on my arm for the first time in my life. I don’t have much of a choice but to donate plasma as I look for work here, as my recent gallivanting around Europe has consequentially put me in a bit of a tight spot. Great idea, Nick. Good timing.

To begin donating plasma (and each time you come back), you have to complete a screening process. When I began communications with Mari (my current host), I imagined what it would be like to screen potential travelers. Would this person really fit here? Does their skill set match my needs? Clearly, I hoped that I would work out for someone, somewhere. Can I really do this? Do I have the right skills?

I’m watching as my blood flows into the plasmapheresis machine to be stripped of its sweet, juicy plasma. In my mind, this process symbolized my recent transformation. I’ll be leaving a part of me everywhere I go. With everyone I meet. Is this what it feels like to shed one’s proverbial skin? My free time is now spent helping Mari and her daughter, Syr. I have the least amount of money and possessions I’ve had for years and years, and I’ve never been happier.

I down a bottle of Powerade and the phlebotomist wraps up my arm. That wasn’t so bad. I walk out the door and can’t help but feel that this new lifestyle, though not currently lucrative, will be more rewarding than anything I’ve ever done. Why did it take me so long to do this?

“I find it invariably true, the poorer I am, the richer I am.” – Henry David Thoreau