Coming off a great vacation sometimes hits you like a jolt of a blaring horn from a peaceful sleep. This time it was welcomed. Not because I had a horrible time on our trip. Not because I couldn’t wait to get out of the mountains. More because, as I’ve gotten older, whenever I travel I’ve realized half the fun is coming home.
Maybe moving around my whole life up until adult hood has given me an itch I can never seem to scratch when it comes to my need for travel. But I also think it’s given me an overwhelming need to have a place to come home to.
The feel of my just-right mattress on my bed, my own pillow, my own space. That feeling of “Aaahhh, we made it” as soon as we cross into county line. The feeling of familiarity, of a sense of community and a place to hang my hat.
They say the best trips always lead you home. I’m blessed to say, home IS home-sweet-home.