A passport with two fresh stamps, a phrase in a borrowed language you keep repeating under your breath, an atlas folded open on the floor where you left it. The Sun stands in your ninth house, the house of the far horizon, of belief and the long road, the map on the wall and the question too big to fit inside one room, and you grow into yourself by reaching past the edge of the familiar. What you study and where you travel actually enlarge you. A journey can change the shape of your sentences, and a teacher who walked the road ahead of you can change the shape of your life. The thing to stay honest about is the gap between the road you have read about and the road you have walked, because the first one is so easy to preach. So put your feet on the path before your mouth gets there. Be a student for a good long while and a teacher only much later, and let the world keep gently humbling your map, which is the whole point of carrying one.