On the plane ride home

I have been roaming the western part of Europe for about 14 days, on a trip that some may say would be one of a lifetime. With tears in my eyes as the plane takes off the ramp and steering upwards towards the sky, I look forward to going home. I am excited to take a shower in my own bathroom, put on a fresh pair of pj’s and ease myself into the most comfortable bed I know… mine.

I do love to travel as most people do, but there’s something almost anticipatory about being back to the familiar, to going home. While my heart is heavy because of the countless amazing connections made and now left behind, I look forward to the next adventure leading me to the end of the year.

I spent 14 days in Europe going from Spain to Portugal with tiny stops along the way in France, Andorra and Gibraltar. I had my passport stamped 4 times and that felt celebratory. I did a little dance inside my own head with every inking stamp that touched the empty pages. Although foreign, Europe always feels a little familiar since it is the continent I once upon a time left, 14 years ago. I’ve missed the smell of cigarettes on patios, the salty scent of the sea, fresh espresso in the mornings and the rich taste of culture and history that filled every street. It’s truly hard to find enough fitting words to explain what this trip did to my soul because there aren’t words that quite make sense. Where would I even start?

Do I tell you about the first time my bare feet hit the sand and water on the beach in Barcelona? The first time I made a friend? The way my heart beat out of my chest when I was kissed for the first time? Or do I tell you about the time we drove through mountains in our little Fiat 500 with music blaring through the speakers filling every inch of the car? Do I tell you about the way  I had a heart to heart with a stranger who listened to my deepest darkest secrets and fears and took all of that information away without so much as knowing my name? Do I tell you about the relief I felt upon telling someone exactly that and knowing I won’t ever see them again?

The truth is that I could sit here and write for ages describing my every day, my every lived experience and you wouldn’t understand a thing because you aren’t me and you don’t comprehend what I felt with every passing moment. The way I filled my lungs with air on the beach because I wanted to remember the smell forever. The way I wrapped my fingers so tightly in between someone else’s to remind myself that it’s okay to feel and appreciate affection, even if temporary. The truth is that I consumed every ounce of joy that was thrown my way, absorbed the knowledge, took in the sound of the waves hitting the shore. But none of this would make you feel even a smidge of what I felt because you weren’t there and you aren’t me.

While spending some time soaking up the sun on a beach in Faro with a cold cider in hand, I remembered the pure joy I used to feel as a child building a sand castle. I got up and remembered seeing a bucket and some gear in the villa and went on to satisfy a child-like guilty pleasure. My bare feet hit the concrete around the villa within about thirty seconds of walking and a triumphant smile spread across my face when I found the sand castle building supplies, in the exact place I remembered seeing them. I galloped my way back to the beach (in a very unattractive way) filled with excitement about the project I was about to take on. After about 25 minutes of pure frustration and a whole lot of lop-sided buckets of sand hitting the flat surface surrounded by a “dam”, I gave up. Who knew sand castle building was that hard? How the heck did I do it as a kid? While my inner child was healed and I felt a certain satisfaction for trying to achieve the task, I couldn’t wait for a shower.

I’m not gonna sit here and tell you about my not-so-gracious moment in the sea where I was taken down by a wave and hit my head off the ground while swallowing an obnoxious amount of salty water. I’m also not gonna tell you about the way my entire two piece bikini not only came off me but was filled so densely with sand that I was carrying a diaper of it and suddenly had a pushup bra when I finally made it out of the water. I also will not tell you how many times I had to wash my hair because I kept finding sand particles all over and thought I would die. I won’t tell you about all that because it was just all types of messed up.

Instead, I’ll tell you about the outdoor shower at the villa and the way I felt like it was out of a movie to be under the rainfall shower head while the sun was still shining outside and I could still hear the waves hitting the shore in the distance. I’ll tell you about the epic naps I took after the long hours spent sunbathing. The heat radiating from my skin when I would wake up and feel the sunburn.

I fell in love so many times, over and over, with my life. I gained an appreciation for myself and how far I’ve come. The truth is, I felt lost at some points earlier this year, I couldn’t find the voice I needed and now, I feel that voice echoing louder and louder with every passing day. They say that travelling is good for the soul and I agree. It makes you see life differently. It makes you appreciate the little things, the fleeting moments, the ones you wish could last just a little longer. It makes passion ten-fold and a kiss feel like fireworks.

More so than that, travelling always makes me appreciate being home just a little more. While I have been itching to go away for so long, for once, I can’t wait to go home. To be in the familiar, in the routine, with those I love. To have a little more than a fleeting moment, to have stability. I love to travel but I also love having a home.

I’m sure I’ll have more to share soon, but for now, I look forward to my phone coming off airplane mode and publishing this little journal written up in the clouds.

I’m home baby