Just a couple of months ago, I was on the road. I was hanging out with macaques, eating cobra, and having my arm covered in giant black scorpions. I was riding a motorbike through Vietnamese mountains and taking pictures with endangered species. I was snorkeling in Thailand and wandering through ancient temples. So, with all this in mind, my question is this:
When did I become so damn domestic?
It hit me the other day that things have changed dramatically in my life. I was so proud of my productive morning: I walked the dog, did the laundry and the dishes, and baked homemade bread. And I liked it (well, aside from the dishes part). What the hell happened in my life??
Ricky and I ended our travels because we were a bit traveled out. We were at the point where we just wanted to wear real-people clothes, and be able to shower every day, and sleep in the same bed every night, and not have to live out of a backpack. We were just ready to settle down a bit.
But I had no clue I would enjoy it so much. Since we have arrived, I have loved cooking in my own kitchen, and taking care of the dog, and sitting in my huge armchair in the evenings and watching some TV. It just feels right, right now. After nine months of traveling, it’s just nice to take a break.
In the beginning of our travels, though, I didn’t think I would need a break. I felt like I could wander the world forever without stopping. I had heard of those permanent vagabonds that somehow manage to hitchhike their way across continents and I thought “I could totally do that! I never want to settle down! I have everything I could ever need, right here on my back!”
However, after 6 months, I was just about ready to call it a day. Granted, 6 months is a dang long time, but I didn’t expect to feel that way so soon. But the stress of travel was getting to me. We weren’t on holiday anymore. I was enjoying it, but it was rough some days.
Even then, it’s a little strange to me that I am enjoying normal life so much. I have a job, I’ll be starting school in a month, and I make homemade pancakes. It’s weird, and it’s not. It feels good and normal. And until Lady Wanderlust calls me again, I think I’ll just enjoy it, because, really, I make some awesome pancakes.