I already miss the mountains – the feeling of being as small as a tack on the bulletin board of life, knowing I’m connected to the bigger whole, somehow contributing, no matter how small the contribution may be. The rolling hills and sporadic waterfalls are engraved in my mind, pictures against a rainy backdrop that encompasses Ireland. My heart physically hurts thinking of the second family I am leaving behind in the country that has made me feel so welcome. For seven weeks I’ve been exploring and having adventures and discovering myself, and now, it’s time to return home – my home, which is made up of cornfields and tire swings, basketball hoops and country roads, seasons that don’t involve constant rain and family who knows me as well as I now know myself. As soon as I board that plane, I will be entering back into familiarity, a place I understand and feel comfortable. I no longer have to travel alone – the ring on my left hand reminds me of that. I’m so looking forward to locking eyes with my partner and not having to explain. I can’t wait to be the couple who steals a kiss instead of the party of one who looks on, yearning for that feeling of reassurance. I’m different now, and I know he is, too. How exciting that we get to relearn one another, to rediscover what made us fall in love in the first place and the new things that we get to fall in love with for the first time. I am anticipating that flight home, the plane that will take me to my parents who are celebrating 25 years of love and friendship together. I’m looking forward to bare feet on the kitchen floor, the nuzzle of my dog as he wakes me up in the morning, the taste of just-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies. I want to catch up with my brother and my friends, to hear what directions their lives have been going. I am ready to board the plane and to embrace the person who is now me in a world that remains unchanged. I am going home.
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