It’s time to move on.
I’ve been back for two weeks and six days.
The backpack has been put away, the last load of washing is drying (as I type now actually…) and there are no signs of any further travel in the foreseeable future.
So to celebrate (commiserate) here’s the last of the notebook posts.
Even memory lane has to come to an end sometime.
India had been on my list ever since a friend visited a few years and shared some crazy stories.
Nonetheless, pre-departure, I found myself reluctant to shoulder the backpack and head to the airport.
It felt like I’d barely been home.
Which was true, ten days isn’t even enough time for the novelty of routine to wear off.
Don’t get me wrong, there are aspects of coming home that really suck (see the next 47 complaint-posts) but there are some things that feel right and as comfortable as an old pair of trackies.
That’s kind of what it comes down to, not trackies unfortunately, but comfort.
Travelling is such a departure from our normal, safe comfort zone.
Everyone talks about using travel to ‘get out of a rut’ or ‘finding something new’ and I agree completely.
But I think it’s also about finding the comfort in the uncomfortable.
Places that were once just specks on an atlas or exotic-sounding fantasies, places like Saigon or Shanghai or Kassel and now even Mumbai or Varanasi, somehow turn into places you never want to leave.
Places that once seemed alien and daunting become homes away from home.
Yeah, at first, travel is about getting out of your comfort zone but as you go further, I think, it’s more about expanding your comfort zone.
The world is your rut, so to speak!
Well, that doesn’t sound as good as I wanted it to…