Oak trees or tumbleweeds? (Reflections on a year)
Two years ago I was packing for Training Camp in Gainesville, Georgia.
One year ago I was at Final Debrief in San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua. The last day of the World Race.
Today I’m in Buffalo, addressing support letter envelopes and preparing for my move back to Gainesville in less than six months.
Ah time, you a sneaky son of a gun.
They tell you from the get-go that the World Race flies by. What they don’t tell you is that your first year home does the exact same thing.
Since being home I’ve had three jobs, gained back all of the weight I lost on the Race, joined a gym, then quit the gym and joined a different gym a few months later.
But I can still remember one year ago like it was yesterday. A little over half the squad departed in Atlanta (with their luggage unfortunately continuing on). The rest of us landed in Chicago, where I said tearful goodbyes to my squadmates and left the airport alone.
When I stepped outside of O’Hare, I noted that even though I had never been to Chicago, it smelled like home. Surrounded by Americans who weren’t my squadmates again, I felt so out of place in my threadbare plaid shirt, worn Tevas, and that dorky canvas hat I bought in Guatemala. It was all just as unfamiliar as any country on the Race had been.
I hopped on the shuttle to a cheap airport hotel, about to sleep in a room by myself for the first time in almost a year. The king-sized bed was wider than I was tall, and although I went to bed luxuriously sprawled out in the middle, I woke up the following morning all the way on the left side, only taking up as much space as I would have on my narrow sleeping pad.
Old habits die hard.
That first full day “home”, I didn’t do much. I walked to Dunkin Donuts to get the biggest iced coffee I could find, then spent the rest of the time sitting in my bed, watching soccer and the last half hour or so of Back to the Future 3.
Every time I heard a noise, I would instinctively look towards the door, as if I were expecting one of my teammates to walk in. After all, I wasn’t used to having all of this space – the solitude was refreshing and unsettling all at the same time.
Everyone jokes about going backpacking across the world to “find yourself,” but it’s after coming home from backpacking that you really have to figure yourself out.
It was hard to be at home – trying and failing to have self-discipline with food after 11 months of minimal choice in what I was eating, motivating myself to work out without my teammates, and merging back into my church community, which isn’t so easy when you live an hour away.
At the same time, it’s been good. I’ve reconnected with old friends, made some new ones, spent time with my family, checked off a few more bucket-list items, and taken advantage of my time at home.
And yet it won’t be long before I leave again, off to Georgia just as I got used to New York weather. Once again, I have a set length of time at my next location, and after that, who knows?
Here’s the thing I learned on the Race time and time again: Always put down roots, even if you know you’ll be uprooted and replanted later.
I’d rather be an oak tree than a tumbleweed.
