Homecoming

​I'm sitting here this morning, back in my chair by the window in Minneapolis, drinking rooibos tea out of a painted cup from Africa while staring at a "Welcome Home" banner from my in-laws. I'm home.

It feels very strange to experience the culture shock of your own home. That culture shock is particularly strong when coming back during Independence Day celebrations. Nothing says "America" quite like red, white, and blue plastered all over a crowd of families cheering for veterans, marching bands, and free candy. Plus, concerns over COVID seem to have virtually disappeared from public gatherings here, yet we'd just spent two months in a COVID-pressured country that doesn't allow gatherings of more than 25 people.

In retrospect, maybe we shouldn't have gone to that parade. I think the shock was quite hard on me. It's like immediately jumping into a cold pool on a sunny day after you've spent all day wearing a parka. For some people, it may have been the perfect way to do it. For me, it was very confusing. My brain kept sending me danger signals as people walked by and brushed against my shoulder or breathed in my direction. I've never been quite so aware of where my eyes were looking or what expression my mouth was making—people could see BOTH those things now!

The day after we landed, we threw a small birthday/homecoming party with our immediate family. I turned 28 that day. It was SO good to see and hug family again, to swap stories of things that happened and things we've been doing. We ate burgers in the well-ballooned-and-birthday-decorated backyard of Ashley's parents. In a way, it felt incredibly normal. Like when you get together with old friends and everything just picks up where it left off. Except my social skills still feel rather unseasoned–instead of talking right after a question gets asked I found myself waiting a moment too long, as if I was waiting for my brain to understand a foreign accent... except it wasn't foreign at all.

I slept quite poorly in my old bed. I thought I would sleep great, and I did the first night, but after that it was rough. The weather is hot, my allergies are sneezing everywhere, my sciatica is flaring up, my stomach is not handling the sugar and richness of the food very well, and my brain is processing all the responsibilities that are coming my way. When I look into our 2nd bedroom or onto our dinner table, I see piles of stuff that needs to be sorted and organized. When I look at my calendar and see a lack of paid gigs, I get nervous that things are not going to be easy to come by.

Yet, all that said, I feel great. I'm surrounded by familiarity and safety. I have food, friends, family, and a beautiful home. I don't have barbed wire fences around my yard. I don't have to be worried about being mugged in broad daylight. I can eat fresh vegetables and drink from the sink. This morning I noticed that when I focus on my current discomfort, it hurts more; but when I focus on all those things I have and am grateful for, I feel free and confident. I must choose that focus every day.

I'm not particularly looking forward to picking up the busy-ness of life again, but that is the reality I must face. I'm trying to take my time this week before I dive back into everything full force. For example, we spent the 4th of July with Ashley's family by eating ribs and playing games. Before that, Ashley and I went for a really long walk around the lake. After that, I sat. I sat a lot. I let myself mush down into exhaustion because I knew I wouldn't be able to do it for very long. Life goes on, and I have some very important and cool things to do.

Today, I spent the morning writing and reflecting with my cup of tea. Later, I help my sister move into a new apartment. Tomorrow, I clean and organize. And then, the work begins.