Stalled out

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.

Here I am. Home.

I met a very wise woman in Jerusalem, and she advised me to be gentle with myself when I went back to the States. The transition would be harder than I expected.

How right she was.

Some parts of coming home, after six months abroad, have been absolutely fabulous. For one, everything tastes 20x better than normal because I haven’t had any “normal” food for half a year. Everyone went out of their way to welcome me home. Joey and Dill were due back at Notre Dame (they are working ND Vision this summer) but they delayed their trip back as long as possible in order to see me for a few hours. Matt threw me a welcome home/ 4th of July party and I got to see several dear friends from high school days. My family whipped up their own welcome home gala the next day, with Mass at our church, my favorite BBQ for lunch, an afternoon viewing of the new Star Trek movie (finally) and a trip to Starbucks to top it all off. All of the creature comforts have been fabulous- my bed with my mattress and my pillow; my bathroom with my fabulous shower; my car with my music blaring. It’s all very comfortable, very familiar, very safe.

But familiarity is deceptive. A lot happens in six months. I’m a different person: more independent, realistic, open, and aware. I need more reassurance, too; I am tired of upheaval and would appreciate some stability for a while. I scattered pieces of my heart around the world, with different people and places, and now that I am home, I feel their absence keenly. By my count, I have at least five homes all tugging on my heart. I am just beginning to get acquainted with this new me, and understand the implications of how I have changed.

Meanwhile, everyone else changed too. Just because I peaced out for six months doesn’t mean that everyone idled around, waiting for me to show back up. I missed countless moments when my loved ones were in pain; I feel a great debt for all of the times I was needed and wasn’t there. Everyone grew, too- they changed, themselves, and now I am faced with the mammoth duty of getting to know my loved ones again, and hoping that we can make up for lost time.

It’s very disorienting, to be surrounded by the familiar that is no longer the same.

Furthermore, everyone wants to know “how it was.” I feel entirely inadequate to answer that question. I couldn’t even blog most of the time because I couldn’t capture my experiences and do them, or the people I had met, any justice. I have been empowered to tell the stories of the lands and people I have seen and met, but like Moses, I am afraid that I am a miserable mouthpiece. This free time before school starts back was supposed to be spent reflecting, digesting, and remembering. Instead, I avoid sorting through photos, writing, or even unpacking. My room is postively snowed under. I have mostly spent my first week home avoiding everything. I read novels, play mindless games, and watch episodes of Firefly with my family. I check Gmail and Google Reader ~60 times a day. I have checked out books from the library that I need to read, but I haven’t opened a single one.

Hiding might feel the safest, but I know deep down that it’s no way to live. Focusing just on my self is bound to lead to disaster. It might be messy, but it’s time to (gently) get reacquainted with normality. Wish me luck.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
T.S. Eliot