Arguably, the most unpleasant part of any trip is the whole “going home” part. The travel time seems longer, the luggage heavier and the Welcome Home to do list more daunting.
Personally, I have a knack for missing flights and sleeping in airports. Sure it results in more time away, but its rarely comfortable and only belabors the journey home; drawing out the inevitable return to reality.
BUT, there is one part of going home that I actually love. Certainly a long shower and my own bed are lovely, however, its that first minute when you walk in the door, that I savor.
Before you settle in. Before you unpack. Even before you turn on all the lights. That minute when everything is still, silent and just how you left it.
Of course its all your own stuff, but somehow it seems alien and only vaguely familiar. It always feels for a split second like just maybe you walked into the wrong place. The feeling only lasts a minute, but I adore it.
Maybe its a strange, subconscious, last-ditch effort for one final moment of the unknown. But more-so, I think I relish the notion that home can somehow feel new and fresh and foreign.
It might be but a fleeting mind game, but its the reason I don’t mind heading home; its something to look forward to!
