It’s the same thing every time I return from a vacation. I’m home…sort of. Physically I’m here, and I’ve been able to function and focus on work, but thoughts of where I’ve been, thoughts of rain forests and beaches, of monkeys and toucans, of pineapple and coconut, are hovering around in my head, occasionally rushing to the forefront as I’m asked by co-workers about the trip.
As I mentioned, I plan to write a series of posts reflecting on what I wasn’t able to post about while I was there, but today it’s all about what it’s like to be home.
It’s colder, it’s more modern (I can flush toilet paper down the toilet again), I’ve been on the computer more in one day than I was during my entire 17-day trip, I ate in an all-you-can-eat campus dining hall rather than at some roadside soda, and I’ve not seen one palm tree.
I find myself in a pretty good mood, basking in lovely memories of a great adventure, but there is a twinge of melancholy in the emotional mix. I remember the last night in Montezuma, the last swim in the ocean, a sunset dip, floating up and down in the swells, feeling so deeply relaxed, so connected with the country and its people, and there’s a little achy longing to be back there again.
For now, however, I’ll work on being in the present moment. I’m here in Bellingham, and no one seems to have screwed it up while we were gone.