I head to the states tonight, and I am looking forward to hanging out there for a few weeks. I will be hopping between LA/NY/Tucson, hopefully with a stop in Chicago to squeeze my niece and nephew.
I am excited to be back in the states for a minute, though I’m not sure it feels totally like home anymore. I have been living outside of the states for the better part of five years, and I feel a little bit like Encino Man, entranced by the modern world. (Note, if you don’t know what Encino Man is, I am so, so much older than you. Go watch it, and understand why loving Brendan Fraser was a thing.) The US feels like a magical place where people are shamed for littering, everyone (mostly) adheres to traffic laws, and you can get berries any time of year. It’s also a place that is weighed down by some crazypants politics, that feel like they might be more at home in a corrupt pseudo-democracy, like this one.
The cocktail of feelings I have going back never goes away, but it’s mostly sweet. I will still sob on the airplane, because I’m a squishy weepy baby when I am tired and cruising at 30,000 feet. I actually love the trip at this point. My carry-on is more of a strategy bag, and nothing goes in there that I don’t need. I bring fuzzy, totally dorky butter socks (pink) with me because those slippers they give you on Korean Air always fall off and I really don’t want to touch the bathroom floor with my feetsies. Ew.
Even though I am exhausted on long haul flights, I love the quiet time, being unavailable, and staring out the window, wondering what’s below. Of course, I can look on a map and find out, but what fun is that? The stars mixed with moderate insanity, and the glass of wine that was supposed to make me fall sleep, is actually kinda nice.
Back on next week, with jet-lag fueled posts on who knows what.