By the time you’re reading this, we’ll be somewhere along our journey home. 

Time To Pack Up

Breaking up camp is difficult for us; we are nesters. If we move in for a week, a month, or a season, we’ll feather our nest. For the past few days, BF has been packing up his mobile office, clearing clothes out of drawers, and mentally packing the car. I resisted. Just kept insisting we’d “do that tomorrow.”

A Special Appreciation

Yesterday, we spent one final morning walking the beach and saying goodbye to her, which is always sad. I commented how if that morning had been a few weeks ago, we would have dubbed it “not a good beach day.” Too windy. We wouldn’t have gone. And we would have missed the beautiful waves and the blue sky and the seagulls and the solitude of an almost-empty beach.

I’m noticing how I see things differently when they’re about to end. How much more I appreciated the last dinner with new friends or with each kid as they have come and gone. I took a picture of a flower as I left the beach, one I’ve walked by many times, never stopping to notice its unique beauty. 

That Sunday Feeling

I can never quite figure out why I feel so sad when it’s time to go home. I love my home. I love my neighbors. I love my community, but when an adventure ends, I develop a serious case of That Sunday Feeling. It will be good to be home, but I also know this experience, that I have loved, will never be re-created, so I have a sick feeling in my tummy and ready tears. 

Once again, I’m resolving to take back home with me the sense of freedom I experience while on adventure. Minus the beach, there’s not one activity I’ve participated in here that is not available to me at home. It’s just not a stroll across the courtyard from me.

Mostly, I want to take with me the magical, last-day noticing. The special appreciation that comes with knowing this won’t be available tomorrow. 

And now, I must get back to packing.