A Word on Homesickness

OK, so it happens.  Even when you're an experienced traveler.  Even on the trip of a lifetime, even when you’re unbelievably happy to be where you are, even when you’re not hungry, tired, uncomfortable, tired of speaking a second language.  You wake up one day, same as all the other days, with an agenda planned for fun and adventure or relaxing or a mix of the two….and it hits you.  You suddenly want your bed at home, your husband, your own crappy weather, your own language.  Your closet.  Your soap.  Your daily routine.  You feel a bit self-centered for feeling this way, yet you can’t help it.  You can temporarily tuck it away by getting busy or writing a blog post or Skyping your husband or Facebook chatting with your friends, or hugging your son, but it comes back.  You’re lying in someone else’s saggy bed with someone else’s blanket, and that super-annoying mosquito you can hear flying around the room.   You can hear someone else’s dog snoring, hear the ticking of someone else’s clock.  You realize you can’t find stuff because you don’t have a place for it.  You’ve been reaching into the same toiletry case for weeks now, and it’s become second nature, but not normal.  You love being where you are, but you long for the freedom to leave your crap out where it doesn’t belong because you can.  You wish you could control your diet more.  You are weary of being the guest on her best behavior.  You want to spend excessive amounts of time doing something you love without worrying that someone will judge you for it, even though you know they most likely do not judge you at all.

Perhaps it’s due in part to the fact that my driving adventures are over and my time here is winding down.  People are now visiting where I am, rather than the other way ‘round. And in a couple of weeks I’ll be the one hosting my niece, who will be experiencing her first trip to the U.S.

This is not being suitcase-weary (read the previous post on living out of a suitcase for more info), although that does play a role.  And I fear most that folks will read this and think I’m not appreciative or that I’m whining.  I’ve worked in International Education long enough to recognize that culture shock is inevitable and sometimes debilitating, and that it’s not necessarily related to how one feels about his or her host country or living situation.  It just is.  And by accepting it, and by getting busy with family, writing, taking walks and talking with others, I can get through it and move on to enjoy my last two weeks in Europe.