So we've been back for three months now... as long as we were on the road, we've now been home. It still feels strange, like a dream, like the trip never really happened, and yet I feel the experience like an imprint on my everyday existence. I've been in the midst of a bit of a personal crisis since we got back--I feel like I yo-yo between absolute happiness and contentedness and complete confusion on a daily basis. Some days I feel like everything I thought I wanted has been thrown into question, but I resist it. I guess I'm not prepared to face the idea that comfort isn't enough.
The trip wasn't life-changing in the way I'd expected it to be--it went too fast, felt too temporary. I've traveled before--I had those profoundly challenging experiences when I was younger, and this time around I was struck by how much I valued my little luxuries. We didn't have any major mishaps, because I planned properly. I didn't want to sleep in the car. I wanted to be clear-headed and calm heading into each day, not clouded and cranky. We just had fun.
And I still can't really believe that we did it.