It’s been 11 months since I set out on a journey that
carried me across four continents, 21 countries and literally around the
entire globe.
334 days later, the World Race is over.
And now here I sit alone in my room, exactly the way I left
it, like a veteran home from the war. The backpack is gone, my clothing is put away. I’ve hugged my parents, my brother, my pets. I don’t have 6 other people sleeping in the same room as me, I’m allowed to drive, I’m allowed to be completely and blissfully alone.
For the moment, I’m not really sure what to do with myself. There’s always a
transitional handful of days that inevitably follow the end of a long
journey, and when it clocks in at just short of a very eventful year, it’s a big change of
gears.
It’s like a tall glass of jet lag with a slice of bittersweet
lemon.
It’s the end of an era.
The wise Frodo Baggins once said this:
“How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart,
you begin to understand there is no going back?”
And that’s kinda how I feel.
I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore.
And I don’t say that in the melodramatic emo sense, I mean it quite literally.
I simply don’t know how to fit this new version of me back into this life.
I would like to say that answers will come in time, but somehow I doubt they will.
Home will always be home.
But there is a part of me that has been awakened to something so much greater,
and I just can’t figure out how to merge the two.
But I am hopeful.
But I guess Frodo was right.
There really is no going back…
