I suppose it simplifies things exponentially to claim that being home is "sameness." Certainly my days vary. Work is never the same from one day to the next. I even took a turn down a street I had never driven today to prove to myself that there are things here in my own neighborhood I have yet to discover. And, yet.
Things that I so looked forward to: Portland restaurants, my bed, streets I can navigate without a map, and an entire wardrobe. These were things that made me smile through my exhausted tears as TSA disposed of our Thai snow globe, emptied out the entirety of our three months worth of travel paraphernalia and paraded us through body scanners like herds of cattle. It was the promise of "home" that helped me bite my tongue as American Airlines charged us to check a single bag and proceeded to refrain from feeding us on a six hour flight.
And now, home these past 2 weeks, I find myself restless and overly organized.
It's strange to me how often I have been asked by friends, family, co-workers, "where will you go next? Have you started planning your next adventure?"
I chuckle and answer truthfully, "no, I don't have any plans."
It feels so lackluster. I have nothing planned.
I had hoped that three months of travel, self-reflection, and adventure would open doors to my future. I had hoped that when I returned I would know where to steer my life. Back to school? A change in work? A change in location? I thought that certainly, by the time I arrived back home I would have figured it out.
Instead, I am filled with even more questions and no plans.
And so, I work. Buy groceries. Mother the chickens in the backyard. I wash dishes. Wash clothes. Sort my mail. Pay my bills. And twiddle my thumbs.
(see... I even still look the same...)
What's next?
