I love to travel, and that is an understatement! I long to see things I've never seen before, immerse myself in another culture, live another way of life. I love the excitement of experiencing something new every day, the promise of a discovery around every corner.
But I do I find it hard to come home, to get back into the familiar routine of my life. It's not that I'm not grateful for all that I have and that I don't miss my family while I'm gone, because I am and I do. It's more that, with new eyes, the old life seems too predictable, so ordinary, like going from color to black and white.
I've been in London for nearly three weeks, living a big city life, very different from the small town, quiet life I live in Minnesota. Now I'm home, picking apples, potatoes, grapes, and raspberries. Raking leaves. Mowing the lawn. Ho hum.
Me, back home in Minnesota
What's the remedy? Reflection, reading, time, putting one foot ahead of the other and carrying on, I think.
And, as everyone knows . . .