You can always go home...

At home, with my Dad and brother, Jesse.

Roel’s parts from Europe arrived and his clutch has been sorted. My bike is making new strange noises and seems to be chugging through oil, but we can’t seem to determine exactly what the issue is and Stan has given us his blessing to ride on, safely. 

As we prepare to leave my home in Vermont, I’m confronted with a bit of melancholy. Although thrilled to get out on the open road and explore Canada and the States, I’m sad to go.

Already, so much has changed since the last time I was home, a year and a half ago. My little brother is heading off to college. My father is preparing to enjoy life after children. And the family dog is hobbling around like a little old lady. 

We spent almost  a month enjoying the  creature comforts of being in a home. A kitchen where we could whip up amazing meals with more than 5 ingredients. A bathroom where I could unpack my toiletries. A refrigerator stocked with beer, yummy cheese and ice cream. All things I will miss once we are on the road. But, all things I will learn to live without, and then will appreciate all the more when we once again have them. 

In many ways, my time at home felt like a visit to a ghost of myself. To a person that I once was. Sleeping on my Tempur Pedic Mattress, atop my 500-thread count Egyptian Cotton, silky soft sheets, with big, plush down pillows, I could have been in my tiny apartment in Washington, DC, again, sleeping in on a Sunday. In my search for the thermal underwear I used to wear for skiing, which I will undoubtably need for this trip, I opened up one of the boxes containing my work clothes from my career in DC. I ran my fingers over the fine wool pencil skirts and silk blouses, slipped off my flip flops to check and see how my old high heels feel now. They still have that magic that makes me instantly feel like a sexy version of myself, but they feel foreign. And although they still fit, of course, they don’t, really. Looking through my old files, I was shocked to be reminded of how much I used to pay for cable TV. It’s a life that I took forgranted while I lived it. 

Even if the only thing I would walk away with after travelling around the world and living abroad would be the appreciation for these things and understanding of how they shaped my life and how I shaped my life around them, it would be worth it. Although I have no use for any of these items right now, the way I’m living my life, I still appreciate them and what they represent of my former life, too much to given them all away. But to understand and appreciate how much more I had than I ever really needed is staggaring knowledge, and knowledge that I treasure. 

But now, my home is wherever I choose it to be. It is where my motorcycle is.  It is where Roel and I set up our tent for the evening. It is where I can hug my Dad in Vermont, my Mother in Florida, my friends in Washington, DC, Australia, California, etc. It is always nice to have a nest. But home is wherever you find yourself at peace.