Herman and I arrived home a week ago, ending a three-month trek through SE Asia, where we visited Thailand, Myanmar (Burma), Vietnam, and Singapore. After a week of being home, we are still adjusting. It’s more than simply recovering from jetlag. It’s crawling back into the old routines.
Most people I talk with about traveling for months at a time assume that being away from the comforts of home for so long is hard on body and spirit. I agree it can be hard if you’re the kind of traveler who is running here and there, trying to see and do it all. Herman and I, however, have learned over the years how to pace ourselves. We stay longer in each destination and see the sights at a sensible stride.
For me, coming home is the hard part. Don’t get me wrong; I love my home. It is the place where I’m most relaxed, most happy, and most productive with my writing. But getting back into our three-mile sunrise hikes, the tennis scene, reconnecting with friends, and restarting my writing work habits are difficult, at least for me.
I’m much more disciplined at home, and it takes effort to reinforce those systematic habits. I’m experiencing that now. It’s great to be home, but I’m finding it a lot of work after a three-month absence.
Yesterday, Herman and I joined friends for a morning of tennis. We played several sets, and to my great surprise, our three-month absence from the game had no effect on our play. I was expecting to spray balls everywhere, being so rusty, but we both played well. I can only hope the same happens with my writing.
I have been writing every day since our return, but it’s too early to tell if it is any good. Normally I need to let it sit for weeks and then go back to reread. Still, I’m feeling good about the progress I’ve made in the last week.
It’s good to be home. I figure another week and I’ll be back in the swing of things. There is no place like it.