I like to imagine that I slipped out of bed in the middle of the night, had my Big Adventure, and was back in time for the alarm to go off in the morning. Sometimes that's really how it seems things happened. But then I see the snow on the ground, or look at the calendar, or a crystal-clear memory shifts its way into my line of vision, and assure myself that, yes, I really was gone for six months.
It just feels so natural to be back -- to slide into old routines, to see old friends, to be roaming the streets of Minneapolis once again. I wonder how long it would have taken for my life here to feel foreign to me -- a year, three, ten? Or, has it become so intertwined with who I am and how I've come to define myself that no amount of time or distance could rob it of its crown?
I find myself acutely and intermittently aware of little things all around me. The breadth of the streets. The quietness and slowness of life here. The smell of the bread and condiments coming from SUBWAY. The brightness of womens' white sneakers as they power-walk through the Skyway on their lunch break. The extreme Midwestern-ness of people's clothes. The distant clang of the Light Rail's bell. The attentiveness of waiters. The willingness of driver's to let me cross the street in front of them. Ice in my water. Fresh air in my lungs. Being able to understand every word spoken around me. So few people.
I still find myself rolling my Rs in inappropriate places (yes, I'll have the Grrrrenache-Syrrrrah please), practicing what I'm going to say in my head before I call a restaurant or business to make a reservation or an inquiry, and looking behind me every fifteen seconds when I'm walking down a street in the dark. I wonder how long these habits will hold on as life in the United States saws away at their thin ropes of life.
Never before have I been so appreciative of the little niceties of life. The silkiness of my bed sheets. The ability to do my own laundry (gentle cycle if I so please) and have it smell deliciously fresh. How incredibly friendly the produce guy at Lund's is. Having my own space. Falling asleep with a warm body beside me. Waking up and making coffee with real cream. Having unlimited access to a computer with fast internet. Being able to call home as often as I want.
But, the best part about being back is being here for the things that count -- not missing out on the best moments of life anymore. Being here for engagement announcements and friends who need support; being able to give hugs and touch pregnant bellies; being here to laugh with my parents and hold Andy's hand and simply be a part of things again.
Argentina was great, and I'm so glad I went... but I'm even more glad to be home, back where I belong.
If I was lost, it was only for a little while.
can you start blogging again, please? Thank you.
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