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In a deserted bus station somewhere in Northern Laos I began to second guess my generous nature. A crude dirt road ran through the station and off into the encroaching jungle. There were no lines at the ticket counter, nor anyone behind it. No carts selling sticky rice, mangoes, or coconuts. No dirty children scrambling about the floor. On the long wooden benches that spanned the length of the building no one sat waiting for the next bus – no one but me. I sat with my elbows on my knees wondering if that newly wed Israeli couple on the bus from Luang Prabang really needed my guidebook as much as I insisted they did after finishing that bottle of rice whiskey. Now I sat without even a map of the country, watching roaches the size of mice scamper amongst the dust and litter in the waning daylight. I didn't know how far the next village was but I knew the sun would set soon and the surrounding bush was already getting louder. I wouldn't make it before sunset and I sure as hell didn't want to be strolling through the jungle after dark. Discouraged I began to settle in. At least I had two walls, a roof, and a bench to keep me off the ground. Come morning I told myself, this whole place will spring to life. Then I felt this strange urge to keep moving and the longer I entertained the idea the stronger the urge became - after all - I knew which way I had come from and the road only ran in two directions so I knew which way I had to go. Readjusting my pack I started out of the station figuring I had a couple hours left before darkness brought the jungle walls in and erased the road. I tried not to think about how far the next village might be. I tried not to think about how I had just traded two walls and a roof for a night on the forest floor. I reminded myself that the Asian tiger was endangered due to poaching and generally afraid of people – then I tried not think about them either. One foot in front of the other and so on I told myself. It began to get dark. The monkeys began to howl and bark at me. I was convinced they were following me, waiting until full darkness to launch an attack. One foot after the other and so on I told myself. Many hours later, now closer to sunrise I found myself exhausted on a balcony over looking tin roofs and chicken wire fences, watching stray dogs scatter for the occasional motor scooter when it hit me. At the bus station I was convinced that I wouldn't have made it and yet here I sat no worse for it all with a cold beer in my hand. I knew which direction to head in and I knew that if I put one foot in front of the other I would get there. I didn't need to listen to my own internal chatter anymore once I knew that. “What other things had I convinced myself I couldn't do?” The question hit me like a brick in the teeth, splitting a crack down the mirror I viewed myself with. “You really are your own biggest obstacle” I mumbled to myself. Then excitement crept in. If I could stop getting in my own way, I might be capable of not just chasing my dreams – but maybe even catching up to them. The excitement was immediately counter balanced by the disconcerting notion that in order to catch my dreams, I would be battling myself far more often than I would ever battle anyone or anything else. While going toe to toe with others is intimidating, having to confront myself regularly for the rest of my life was terrifying. I can be a prick. “Oh well” I thought, extending my arm over the balcony and turning my bottle upside down. I watched the last few drops fall to the street below. “If it's going to be a battle of Me vs Me, we may as well fight to the death”