Coming home after traveling sucks. There’s no sense in sugar coating it to look better than it is. Coming home is confusing and frustrating for yourself and for everyone around you. I’ve been home for a little over two weeks and I’m still coming to terms with it.
It’s nearly impossible to properly explain to someone who hasn’t felt it. It’s the biggest feeling of displacement I’ve ever experienced. I went away to explore the world. I lived in a place where you almost never heard conversational English on the bus, where the rivers and buildings had been around for thousands of years and I had some mangled form of shapeless independence. I lived in a place that was entirely like home but nothing like it at all. It changed the way I see the world, myself and my opinions of the way things work within myself and the world.
Now I’m back in small town Nova Scotia. I live with my family, who are stilling arguing about the same things they were when I left. The town is the same, the people are the same. I’m waiting for calls from job interviews, the kind that always say you’ll hear back either way by tomorrow, but the phone never rings. When I shower my skin itches for hours from the chemicals in the water. Three weeks ago I was exploring the world and now I spend my time behind a computer screen, passing the days away until Grand Theft Boyfriend V loosens its grip on men everywhere.
This has had a profound effect on my motivation. Today I didn’t feel like it was worth getting out of bed. Who needs me? I could just stay under the sheets and it wouldn’t make a difference. Even the biggest goals I set for myself before I came home feel entirely pointless. I know that no one will change my perception expect for me, but I keep thinking that maybe if that phone would just ring…