Dear Home,
It’s been 280 days.
Only one country left. One country between us. One country between me and my pups. One country between me and my sweet, sweet bed. One country between me and a real towel (I’m looking at you, DryLite.)
I thought I was going to wait until right before I got home to write this letter to you. The truth is, I miss you, but I don’t need you. It’s a weird feeling, wanting your comfort but not wanting you. I don’t want to see you, but I’d love if you could give me my Clarisonic- my acne is the equivalent to an 8th grade boy’s. Must be the humidity. I don’t want to see you, but I’d love if you could give my leggings back. “They are against dress code,” they said. “You’ll never wear them,” they said. Except in India. And Nepal. And under any dress ever. And on any travel day ever. I don’t want to see you, but I really really want to see my parents and sisters.
It’s a weird thing, being a month 10 Racer. I’m constantly torn between wanting you and wanting this life I’ve learned to find comfort in. There are days when a parasite has gotten the best of me and I want you. I want anything but a gross bathroom and a sleeping pad. But then I look up and see Jess playing the guitar and worshipping the Lord. I look up and see Alex smiling and deep in conversation with someone. I look up and see Amaris studying the Word- a true woman after God’s own heart. I look up and see Andy serving his wife, Madi.
Then my phone lights up and I remember, for a moment, that I’m still on the World Race. That this isn’t my “real life.” That I still have you. You; with your grocery stores, cafes, and unlimited data plans. You have my parents and sisters and brother-in-law and niece. But you don’t have my whole family. Because I look up and see that they too, are here; and we aren’t with you.
Hear me, please, when I say I love you and I miss you. I’m sorry if I don’t tell you enough. At the beginning of the Race, I wouldn’t even toy with thoughts about you. They started creeping in in Africa. By Peru… the “what ifs” were almost controlling. “What if I move to Colorado and lose my friends?” “What if I’m making the wrong choice?” “What if I never see him again?” This month, in Ecuador, I’ve learned to let go of the “what ifs.” The closer I am to you, the less I think about the “what ifs” and more about who you are. Now when I think about you, it’s daunting. I think about seeing you and wondering if I’ll be the person you want me to be. I wonder if I’ll disappoint you. I wonder if you’ll understand why I don’t want to get drunk and why I need to wake up 2 hours before starting my day. I wonder if you’ll understand why a grocery store gives me a panic attack. I wonder if you’ll understand why I hate wasted food.
I’ve seen so many things while we’ve been apart. I’ve changed, I’ve grown, and I am not the same woman that left in August. I now give feedback openly and honestly. I now show my emotions. I now seek the Lord with my whole heart, mind, and soul. I’m scared you won’t love the woman I’ve become. I’m scared to leave this Race of mine and come back to you. I’m scared that I won’t be able to convey the past year of my life. In fact, I know I can’t. But I’m scared you won’t be patient as I try. I’m scared when I start talking about Poumpli, the kid in Rwanda that has my heart, that you will forget who he is within minutes. I know you care, but you’ll never know the ache that rips through my heart every time I remember him sitting on my lap, strumming my guitar. And that’s okay, I don’t expect you too. But that doesn’t mean it’s not hard- knowing that you, another deep part of who I am will never know the other places, things, and people that I left my heart with.
Please have patience with me as I come back to you. Re-entry and reverse culture shock is real. I promise- I almost yelled at my parents when rice was still on their plates. I’ll admit, this was not my finest moment. Feel free to tell me when I’m being unreasonable, but have grace as I try to remember what life is like with you. Remember that there will be days I fall silent, and will be lost in prayer and my thoughts. There may be days I sleep on my pad, just to find comfort. Remember there will be days on the opposite side of the spectrum- where I want to take a 45 minute hot shower. Or drink straight from the tap. Remember there will be days I cannot stop talking about India. And Nepal. And Thailand. And Cambodia, Vietnam, Ethiopia, Rwanda, Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, and Colombia.
I miss you and I want you. But I’m scared of you. Most of all, though, I love you and am thankful for you.
See you soon,
Lindsay
