My life existed solely in snapshots lately. Around the world in 62 days; boarded 13 flights and drove 39 hours, moved in and about approximately 24 cities in across 3 continents. In between the packing and unpacking, traversing from one airport to the next, crossing states in a day, a sore back resulting from hours of sitting during long haul road trips, and all that fast food we had to stuff our faces with to bypass hunger pains — the only thing I could hang onto for some sense of coherence and order amidst the whirlwind of events was my camera.
I am extremely content that I have gotten to chronicle this trip through my pictures, a photo timeline of sort. Like a visual presentation of the past two months of my life; from random objects and things that amused me during boring stopovers to picturesque sights, to family reunions that were portrait worthy and well, to just about every single moment I cannot dare forget/or no longer remember. I got to reflect on where we have gone and what we have done, compared memories and experiences to that my photos portrayed, and gained an unexpected perspective on things.
We flew out of New York to Copenhagen some two weeks ago. Spent a week in Denmark for needed quality time with family and friends, which is always a delight and a great break from all things hasty (up until my flight to Spain that is). I always get cold sweats driving to the airport — and it’s not the bid goodbye that rattles me, it’s wondering how much my overweight luggage will cost.
I’ve been on the road and in planes seemingly on an almost routinary basis in the last two years, both for vacation and keeping with a long distance marriage. I realize I have not stayed at our apartment in Spain for more than two months at a time without jetting off or hopping in the car to go somewhere far.
As mind boggling as it sounds, I start to crave the most mundane everyday stuff of life. I’m willing to give up the endless trips for something as boring as painting our bedroom walls. I am needing some kind of normalcy in my home life as our home is starting to feel like another vacation destination to me (we’ve never really been in it for long periods). My small tasks becomes quite of an enormous fleet, such as photo diaries to blog, facebook albums to upload, a phone bill, a stack of thank you notes to mail, and a Spanish exam to dread. But here, right now, I just want to be in my home.
The past few days I had leisurely spent settling down, I took time carefully unpacking my things, meticulously doing the laundry, picking up beautiful flowers in the market, organizing my cupboards, and hanging pastel hued clothes for Spring. I just enjoy and unwind, taking full appreciation of nights where I can fully stretch my legs when I sleep, wrapped in my deliciously soft white sheets… maybe I’ll even find the time to start a new book to read.
Now I am back home. It came clear to me that no matter how exciting and liberating traveling can be, nothing compares to the familiar. Spontaneity has an expiry, and a jetset life can just as well turn into a boring routine.
Sometimes the best kind of travel there is, is coming home.