This is the come down. The moment of crashing back to reality where Saturday night entails listening to some music and Sunday will be spent doing chores and prepping for the week ahead. After a week of urban exploring, meeting new people, eating and drinking, and sitting outside at cafés in the sun, I am tired, but don’t feel satiated. I liked the randomness of it all. I liked figuring my way around. I liked my dinner with a woman of elegance and grace, and my morning wandering around with a stranger from a different continent – both of us taking it all in.
Aside from napping (because I didn’t sleep well or much on the overnight flight), I felt awash in time in my first afternoon back. Having had so much external stimulation for a week, I felt frozen and a little lost. The grocery store felt boring compared to the co-op market or the cheese shop. Even the simple act of reading on the sofa seemed lackluster compared to the combination of reading and people watching and eavesdropping. Now, back home in the chilly routine of my Pennsylvania days, there’s little urgency. I don’t need to figure where I want to have breakfast and what neighborhood I’d like to check out for lunch. I’m not bound by the constraint of only having so many days to get it all in. Sitting in the hotel room, I would have felt antsy to get out and be in the city. Sitting in the house, I have no urgency to go anywhere (other than the dog whimpering to go out).
Returning encourages reflection. It’s the crash after the high. Vacation life isn’t real life. I’d like to find a better blend between the two.