on returning home

Whether or not it has always been my intention, subconscious or conscious, my need to travel has perhaps at times been fueled by a desire to run away from myself, a perception of home and the responsibilities that come with a modern, fast-paced existence. At the ripe age of 24, the idea of settling down still seems linked to the expectation of ever bettering yourself in a peculiar sort of way; maniacally sprinting to check off the next box on the big to-do list of life without stopping to smell the roses.

These next few months will be the longest amount of time I’ve spent at “home” in about 2 years. Whenever I’m away, a part of me thinks I miss the monotony of routine. When you’ve been living for months on end out of a suitcase, haven’t stayed in one place for more than two weeks, and have moldy clothes from humidity, it’s easy to idealize a cozy room with all your belongings within four walls and a tea mug to call your own.

Now that I’m home again and have time to reflect, I’ve noticed that a few different feelings of freedom emerge about my time away. The freedom to adopt new habits and adapt to new environments, the freedom to explore and be awed by new sights, but also the freedom to forget. Since I’ve come back, I’ve realized how much can be forgotten. The clothes I meant to donate, the friend I lost touch with, the conversation I never had, the application that was never submitted.

I’m bombarded by bits and bobs tucked away in tiny corners of my mind, thoughts I told myself I’d come back to later. All things unfinished stare longingly. Perhaps it’s a good reminder that the rest of the world doesn’t go on pause just because I am “away.” New surroundings always bend my perspective; but time defiantly marches on in spite of change.

I wonder what will happen if I ever decide to stop scratching my travel itch, and when I’ll fully sink into the mental shift that comes with returning home. Until then, I guess I’ll write rambling blog posts and feel a bit like this every time I leave:

“I was surprised, as always, by how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.”

- Jack Keroauc

Xoxo,

Beany