Resuming
Purgatory:
And so ensued the inevitable, yet still melancholic, transition back to my previous, “normal” life. I have a hard time with transitions. And this was a pretty drastic one.
Traveling long term is so great, taking a gap year/break is so great, but the major come down and tough assimilation back into normal life after is also part of the reality, and not nearly as exciting.
I essentially put my ‘normal’ on pause for 6 months. Coming home was an immediate, unforgiving step back into the static hold I fled from back in August.
Me in August, bidding farewell to my friends and the U.S. for the last time, about to take off from LAX. My shoes were SO clean here wow, those converse have since been absolutely battered and weathered into nothing.
The transition wasn’t all in complete despair though, sweet reunions of home and family were still on the horizon, need I forget. Home, family, and beginning the next phase of life!
But this next phase of life, I was not super excited for— it was still just a transitionary state, nothing to really grasp onto. No firm roots, no secure job, lots of unknowns, lots of up in the airs, lots of existential dread and WTF am I doing’s.
I felt like I had been plopped into this weird purgatory (aka a Midwest winter) where half of me was still head in the clouds, free-spirited as can be, utterly inspired and in awe with the world, while the other half of me was suddenly swarmed with frivolous, uninspiring adult responsibilities, looming student loan payments, resumes and cover letters to be sent out, all amongst other readjustment tasks.
It was a great way to have the life and zest sucked out of me fairly quickly.
Not to be all “woe is me” though, this fate was totally self-inflicted and of course, anticipated. And I’d do it all again for the sake of the experiences traveling gifted me.
First home-cooked meal back after reuniting with my dad
Reality:
Sooooo now I was back to my estranged friend, Reality. She was fun to avoid for a while, but will never be truly escapable.
The transition’s been a little rough. Rough because of the weird in-limbo period I am in now, rough because my heavy heart still mourns for all of the people I left behind, and rough because I’ve oddly found myself mourning the person I was before I uprooted my life and began traveling — she actually (kind of) had her sh!t together.
She also had concrete structure, stability, and goals, along with a wonderful, reliable group of people around, all in one place. Having all of those things steadily at your disposal is like a constant and deep inhalation of safety and comfort. A feeling I am ready to breathe in again.
But, enough about my personal self-inflictions, let’s talk about the Sahara Desert and the beginning of what turned into my deep admiration and inspiration for a new culture.