Coming home. Bittersweet emotions entwine my heart in a struggle as soon as I enter the front door. It is the feeling of being exactly who I am, on the path that I am on, at this exact moment- aka reality.
Gone are the fleeting ideas of who I could become, the places I could travel to, and the amazing things that I could accomplish. To say they are still dreams and dreams can come true is discouraging as I am now aware of the gaping gorge between ‘the present’ and ‘the dream’. Bills need to be paid, and somehow my dreams would cost a lot of money to get started or at least on their way. Children need to be cared for; I guess I forgot about the day to day requirements of meeting their basic needs. Real time exists- nothing happens with the wave of a magic wand or even over night.
As I fold my freshly laundered clothes and put them away without much thought into my closet and drawers, I take notice of the melancholy that has washed over me. It has washed me into a lighter shade than who I was hours before sitting in a lawn chair, pretending to live a different life.
As I crawl into my bed and pull the familiar weight of the quilt up to my chin, it feels as if my Grandmother is wrapping me in her arms and telling me, “it is okay to be who I am today and that I can change my tomorrow when I get there”.
Sigh. Why is it that vacation has to end?