The Hardest Part About Returning ‘Home’.

Traveling is one of the greatest things one can do in this world. Jetting off to new places, while meeting new people, is an experience that will change our lives forever. To call ourselves travelers is an understatement. We are adventures and thrill seekers. We are fearless. We are lovers of life. But above all, we are free.

Us travelers, speak a special type of language. A dialect only we can understand. We see the world in a different light then most people.

We spend hours talking about places we have been and the ones we hope to visit soon. Sharing our stories help us understand one another. They connect us. Giving our travels meaning and significance. We believe that faith has led us to one another. Our paths have collided for a specific reason.

One thing travelers neglect to speak about is returning home. We all realize it is apart of the journey, yet do not spend much time dwelling on the homecoming.

Returning home from traveling is by far the worst part of our entire trip.

We experience life to the complete fullest. Nothing is impossible or off limits. The sky is our only restriction. The world becomes our playground and we never want to grow up. Our lives are filled with new adventures and our days are meaningful.

Unfortunately, usually due to lack of money, our time always comes to an end. We aboard that last plane back to a place we use to know.

At first, returning home is exciting. Seeing our family and friends is refreshing and comforting. Sleeping in our own bed, in a room to ourselves, is true bliss. Home is familiar and safe. We might even start to wonder why we left to begin with.

But slowly, as the excitement of it all fades, we find ourselves a bit lost. Suddenly home is no longer recognizable. Everything looks the same. But it doesn’t feel that way.

Something major has changed. And it involves us. We have changed.

Traveling has destroyed the person we use to be. It has created a better version of ourselves. Things that use to matter to us, no longer do. Our priorities, and the things we want out of life, have changed entirely.

We begin to crave the unfamiliar. Waking up without knowing of the direction of our day. We miss submerging ourselves in diverse cultures and constantly meeting new people. Reminders of our travels haunt us everywhere we go.

We’re stuck between two worlds. A world we no longer know how to navigate, and a world where we feel the most alive.

We return as completely different people, who are expected to fill the role of an unrecognizable person. The person we use to be. Outsiders looking in on a world we use to understand, but no longer can.

That person, who left months ago, does not exist anymore.

To our loved ones, we look just the same. Maybe just a bit more tanned with lighter hair. But no one can comprehend the change that has occurred within us. We cannot relate with our family and friends like we use to. Even though, we wish that we could.

All of this makes us want to leave again. Run back to a place where people can actually understand us. So we can find a new place to call home. A place filled with people who we can call our own.

As more time passes, we realize we do not belong here. Although, we are not sure where we do fit in anymore. Sleeping alone in our own bed becomes the loneliest thing in this world. Home is no longer familiar or safe.

So, we do what needs to be done. Work hard and save money. We do what we HAVE to do, so that we can return back into the big open world. We thrive to go back to a place where we can breath again. Back to “Neverland”, where we are free to be who we want to be.

This travel bug of ours is vicious. It takes control of us. Drives us back out into the land of unknown.

We are nomads. We belong to no city. We belong to no one.

Our “home” is no longer that. Which is the worst part about our return; the realization that home is no longer the place you returned too.

 

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