Transitions

It is impossible to believe that I was living in Spain a little over a month ago. Every day that slips by is another day further away from that place, from that impossibility. It almost feels as if it doesn't exist, as if those months were just a dream and now I've woken up back into reality. But I can't discern sleep from dreaming. Which life is real?

I almost can't look back at the pictures of Spain -- it is just too painful. I think it will be a long time before I will be able to. Isn't that funny? Almost the way you can't look at photos of a person when they are gone, because you know that they aren't coming back. That's exactly how I feel.

There is nothing bad about my life back here at home. It is perfectly normal. Perfectly fine. And yet, for some reason, I honestly want to just crawl into my bed sometimes and lay there, hoping against hope that when I open up my eyes I will be in my tiny room in Alicante, staring at the ancient ceiling. As if it were that easy to switch between the two places, my two lives. It doesn't help that it is raining here every day. I love the rain, but...

I'm working on it. I'm learning a lot and focusing on my work, hoping just to get through. I'm trying to put meaning back into my life, figuring out how to incorporate everything and all of these pieces into one, tightly-knit thing. And though I can knit a scarf pretty well, knitting all of these pieces together is proving a little more challenging than I realized. After reading my friend Trevor's blog though (who is still in Spain and just got back from a month of traveling Europe), I just have to remember to make the most of every moment. Okay, maybe there isn't quite the same amount of adventure here at SC. But there's got to be something. And, well, I cooked again tonight, so I suppose that's an adventure. Simply navigating, that's an adventure.

I'm tired of 'transitioning' now. I want home to feel like home again.