In this season of life, I often feel like a visitor in my own home. Many months, I spend more nights in hotel rooms and on airplanes than in my own bed. This reality might seem bizarre to the average person who only travels once or twice a year. During the pandemic, I experienced the opposite for the first time in my adult life. It was challenging, but it was also grounding to have roots. The predictability and stability of day-to-day life were both refreshing and, in a way, a bit boring.
Now, years later, I find myself back on the rollercoaster of constant travel. One week at home, two weeks on the road; four days at home, three weeks on planes, trains, and automobiles. This lifestyle leaves its mark on my household in interesting ways. I jump in and out of my family's life. When I am home, I try to stay out of the way and make myself useful. Bedtimes and lunches are different. Everyone has a routine that I am not part of. I've learned to let the day-to-day continue as if I am still gone, trying not to disrupt things.
Those of us who travel end up living two lives: one where we are adored and pampered, and another where we pop in and out of everyone's lives. It's a constant balancing act. I'm always trying to see my people, hang out with my family, practice, run a business, and stay positive. Sometimes it all works, other times everything falls apart. We miss big and small events for years, and then suddenly we're available again, expecting everyone to seamlessly fit us back into their lives, seldom realizing that everything around us has changed, and we've changed. This is our dilemma as travelers. We don't get to be mundane or reliable.
We do get adventure and exposure to every corner of the world. I guess you can't have it all.
The worst part of my job is missing the summers, especially in NYC. It's the best time to connect with friends, BBQ, and generally relax. As I move through this chapter, I am realizing that I am not here or anywhere, really. Just moving and making sounds.
DD
Комментарии