My twin size bed would no longer fit me. The person I had become while traveling, didn’t know how to squeeze herself back into childhood. I can tell you the hardest part of an adventure, is returning home. It’s the odd nostalgia that greets you at the door. It welcomes you back to a place that isn’t exactly home anymore.
I heard people talk about that sense of listlessness. I didn’t think it would get to me. But I am human and it did. I forgot parts of myself I had spent hours to discover. I walked about in a daze. Depression set in. Everyone was still the same. Everyone had changed. The world had paused while I was away. I had sped up.
I gave myself time to adjust. I had very little social interaction and spent a lot of time hiking. I allowed myself sit in the discomfort I felt. I came to realize that no one would every understand the experience I had just had. No one would be able to grasp all the ways in which I had grown. I was the only would who could acknowledge this. So that part of myself became a secret. It became a part of me only I knew about.
You only have yourself. That has to be enough. Otherwise, the world can get the better of you.