There's No Place Like It
By the time we pulled into our driveway, I no longer cared that we had road trip interruptus.
I no longer cared that our plans had changed so dramatically. I no longer cared that we had taken what felt like several steps backwards, into our old paradigm, back to California. I was just so happy to be home. I was so happy to have a home to come back to. I was so thankful we hadn’t sold the place.
I mean, I did care. I cared very much.
But our plans being completely hijacked was taking a big back seat to the relief I was feeling about having firm ground beneath our feet.
By the time we got home, we were traumatized. Like most of the world, we were traumatized by all the fear we’d been fed for the last two months about COVID. We were traumatized by being out on the road in a climate of quarantine. And if that wasn’t enough, we were traumatized by our rig - our home on wheels - continuing to break down within the climate of a global pandemic. All in all, it felt like one ludacris situation after another.
We rolled into our driveway on May 13th, just as retrograde season was firmly taking hold. And five years to the day from the day we had initially moved in. Funny, the timing of things.
We settled in and settled our minds, our hearts and our emotions. We got into an easy rhythm. Not the rhythm we’d had before we left, but a new one. An improved one. We’d stepped back into our old paradigm, but we brought our new paradigm rhythm back with us.
And we got to work laying foundations for the future.