Home

I've been home three days. I have traveled solo in Europe for the first time and still feel as if I should be overseas. However, I have returned with a pocket full of change, 250+ pictures and memories I'll likely never forget. An irony of traveling solo is that I remember the people I meet even more than the places I've seen. Whether it was the first night pub crawl in Camden Town or the final hours in Toronto, it is the people that made my trip nothing short of great.
Now as I mesh into my daily routine and deal with my oncoming semesters abroad, I find myself looking at airfare, train-fare and dates on a calendar. Is it restlessness? Is it interest? Is it the people? Is it the simple desire for something new? Maybe its one of these, or all of them. Maybe I'm confusing a lifestyle with a hobby, or maybe reading the news and listening to friends never fail to remind me how much there is in the world. I felt I have seen allot by age 25, but as I discovered only two short years ago, one plane ticket costs too much and the 10 since then is not enough. I travel fast, sometimes to the point of fatigue. If this is my only mistake than I have little to change. I'm still learning. Traveling is an art; you try packing only one medium sized suitcase for a couple weeks.

Whether its catching the next ride out, missing that subway stop, sharing the latest landmark with a fellow vagabond or squeezing that last little bit of shampoo out of its tiny bottle in a hostel bathroom, it is all worth it. Perhaps the saddest realization is that it all appears this clear only after you return home. At home you are distant from the long lines, language barriers, fatigue and hangovers that dilute some hours of travel. You are completely comfortable here but wish you were there. This feeling never goes away. I'm sure there are others that feel the same. If so, write a comment.