the weirdness of being home

I've been home for almost three weeks now. A question I get a lot is, "Does it feel weird?"

At first, I said no. Because when my parents stepped out of the car at the airport, it was like they'd just dropped me off yesterday. The house I grew up in, the streets I'd driven for years, my friends back in their childhood homes - all familiar, all the same. But the flurry of reuniting calmed, and I began to feel it. In the quiet moments - brushing my teeth in the morning, driving alone, my wandering thoughts before sleep. The weirdness. Like my trip was all a dream.

On my last day, I hiked Ben Lomond with two lovely friends. Stephanie dragged me out of bed after I'd been out partying until 4am. We cured our hangovers with crisp mountain air and the ache in our legs as we made our way up gorgeous scenery. On hour 5 of hiking, almost at the end, my brain finally realized: "I'm flying home tomorrow." And my chest tightened. I told my friends that I was maybe starting to freak out. Courtney turned to me and said, "You've been traveling for such a long time. Give yourself some credit and feel."

So here it is: I feel weird.

It's strange to have left behind a life so different from my present. And I'm a little bit sad. But I'm multi-faceted, like all humans, so I'm sad but also happy to be home with people I love, and excited to be headed to NYC with a new gig. I've had a lot of change and uncertainty recently. There's a lot to feel, and that's completely okay. I think we're meant to feel the many edges of pain and joy and all the ridges in between. And it's a flawed thing to try to be happy 100% of the time. Without sadness or pain, how would we know such sweet joy? Maybe we should strive to be whole, instead of just happy.

Maybe we should give ourselves some credit, and just feel.