Over the past nine days, I’ve traveled thousands of miles. I crossed international borders four times. I touched land in four states.
I took hundreds of pictures. I drank a dozen chai lattes. I learned to make peace with convertible hair. I bought books. And wanted to buy more. I ate fish and chips seaside. I inhaled a taco salad on an Indian reservation.
I felt anonymous in the middle of great cities. I imagined new lives along small harbors.
And after a final 30-hour push, I am home.
My adventures seem surreal now. The fog of Saturday’s red-eye still lingers. Three books and four baking mixes are all that I brought home. Thank God for pictures–proof that these incredible experiences that now seem so distant, so foreign actually happened.
I will be gentle with myself today. I am jet lagged. My feet and legs are still sore from adventures on foot. I still feel the rocking of the ferry from when we crossed the Straights.
There is so much I want to record and not just for posterity, but as a way to remember newly-made promises to myself.
As a way to preserve the resolve I found amidst tears from being too hungry, too tired, too exhausted from putting my needs last.
As a way to preserve the realization that my best self cannot be found in the best version of others.
As a way to preserve the sights, sounds, and feelings that led me to realize that while I can imagine 1,000 new lives in 100 new places, I am exactly where I need to be.
As a way to preserve the marvel that everything happens the way it is meant to.
But for now, a shower.