Back to Reality
I am now sitting in the airport in Mexico City, awaiting the plane that will take me home.
I love my family very much and I look forward to seeing them, but if I'm honest, I have to say I am not homesick. Not even close. I am always very happy to be home and to see the people I love, but I always get this pit in my stomach at the end of a good trip. Why is that? What is that?
I think it could be that I want so much to prolong the feeling I have when I am abroad. What is it? Is it freedom? Is it all that newness? I have such great luck when I travel. And it was no different this time. I met some very interesting people, had some great conversations, learned a ton, had great food. For some reason, I think I get scared that when I get back home, I'm not going to be able to keep feeling that, to keep doing that. I want to keep doing that.
On this trip, I practiced yoga with a Mexican restaurant owner, a very experienced yoga teacher (who you might have heard of - she was recently on the cover of Yoga Journal, I think), an Art Deco dealer from Canada, a couple of very in love traveling hippies, an exchange student from Holland, another hippy who used to live in Austin and now lives in a Mexican pueblo, and a French 36-year old mother of two small kids. We all got along famously.
We talked yoga, we talked politics, we talked about who liked olives and who could eat the hottest Jalapeno pepper without flinching. We contemplated our energy, our spirituality, our yogic potential, and our aging process. We also talked about our kids and our jobs and how not to get in a rut. We talked about religion, literature, art, and pop culture: Sartre, Borges, Garcia-Marquez, Orhan Pamuk, and Homer Simpson. We talked about life.
And we lived it.
I want to keep doing that.
I love my family very much and I look forward to seeing them, but if I'm honest, I have to say I am not homesick. Not even close. I am always very happy to be home and to see the people I love, but I always get this pit in my stomach at the end of a good trip. Why is that? What is that?
I think it could be that I want so much to prolong the feeling I have when I am abroad. What is it? Is it freedom? Is it all that newness? I have such great luck when I travel. And it was no different this time. I met some very interesting people, had some great conversations, learned a ton, had great food. For some reason, I think I get scared that when I get back home, I'm not going to be able to keep feeling that, to keep doing that. I want to keep doing that.
On this trip, I practiced yoga with a Mexican restaurant owner, a very experienced yoga teacher (who you might have heard of - she was recently on the cover of Yoga Journal, I think), an Art Deco dealer from Canada, a couple of very in love traveling hippies, an exchange student from Holland, another hippy who used to live in Austin and now lives in a Mexican pueblo, and a French 36-year old mother of two small kids. We all got along famously.
We talked yoga, we talked politics, we talked about who liked olives and who could eat the hottest Jalapeno pepper without flinching. We contemplated our energy, our spirituality, our yogic potential, and our aging process. We also talked about our kids and our jobs and how not to get in a rut. We talked about religion, literature, art, and pop culture: Sartre, Borges, Garcia-Marquez, Orhan Pamuk, and Homer Simpson. We talked about life.
And we lived it.
I want to keep doing that.
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