Just over a year ago I got in my car and headed west. I had two weeks of freedom from the cube and I planned to use it to start the new year the best way I knew how -- in the mountains. Returning home after that trip was excruciating, as returning home from travels usually is for me. This post-travel visit to Funkville had set a pattern of perpetual adventures, because planning the next one was imperative to tolerating life after the last one ended.
What a difference a year makes.....
After staying put for nearly three whole months (a record for me) canyon fever was setting in and I needed to plan an escape. Hard to believe that someplace so beautiful could ever feel stifling, but after 11 weeks in a tiny, remote mountain town the walls were starting to close in.
Seems like old habits.....
But this time coming "home" felt different. I had a great trip. But when I reached the point on the road where I could see those familiar peaks jutting skyward out of my backyard, I didn't feel the familiar heat of frustration and entrapment. I felt calmed. Maybe not quite contentment, but something far from the familiar agitation and dread that usually accompanies me on the return trip.
Right now it feels good to be "home."
I use the term "home" loosely, as I don't know what the next few months have in store for me. I only know that right now, in this moment, I am home. And I am happy to be there.
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