I travelled back to Chicago this weekend. It was a quick trip – equal parts business and pleasure, colleagues and family, alcohol and water, comfortable and strange.
Yesterday provided me plenty of time (2+ hours in the airport, 4+ hours on planes) to mull over recent events. For as happy as I was to be “home,” I could not wait to be back in Carolina. As I waited to get off my final plane and into the arms of my cute husband/chauffeur, my seatmate asked where I was headed. “Nowhere. I’m home now,” I hastily replied, anxious to grab my bag and go.
And then it hit me. It was so natural to say I was home, even though there are plenty of times when it doesn’t feel that way.
As the clock ticked past midnight, I couldn’t wait to get into my apartment, where my dogs, my bed, my carefully-hunted antiques and hot-pink pillows awaited me…where my suitcases full of clothes are still awaiting to be unpacked from the move…where I was sure to find a sink full of dirty dishes and an empty fridge…my hallmarks of home.
I answered the questions “How do you like South Carolina?” and “How is your husband doing?” a lot the past few days. And the answers were always the same…”Better than I thought I would,” and “Beat up, but still making progress.” And I guess therein lies the truth in the whole situation. We’re beat up — him physically, and me emotionally, but we’re better than we thought we would be. It’s an adventure, and we’re really digging writing this new chapter.
My mom made a comment to me yesterday…something along the lines of, “You seem to really be making the most out of this whole thing.” And I am. Or at least I’m trying really hard. Sometimes, I think that’s all that’s needed to convince yourself that things are good.