Even When You’ve Had a Great Trip from There to Here, Re-Entry Sucks!
The Disorientation of Traveling — and What to Do About It
I’ve been gone from Paris for nine days.
Returning meant losing six hours.
Losing time. I never get used to it. I never bounce back; I crawl back.
Mind you, I have done this repeatedly for the last 20 years: go from one venue to the next. Like a traveling salesman, I cart my “stuff” and unpack it in a new place. Unlike the salesman, I travel between homes. It’s re-entry nonetheless.
I’m not complaining...
I live in great places. My lifestyle is interesting and challenging, keeps me in motion, and my mind working; something new is always coming at me. All that bodes well for a good and long life. Still, re-entry sucks, especially when I lose time.
Returning, even to a familiar home, is always disorienting. For one thing, it feels as if I’ve never left, except that everything in the house sounds a little more hollow than before. It’s clean and unlived-in. My desk is uncluttered. It The longer I’ve been away, the more the place reeks of absence.
I have strategies…
I accept that not everyone has trouble with re-entry. I know lots of people with jam-packed itineraries, who don’t give it a second thought. They love to travel; I don’t. And yet, I do.
It helps to force myself to imagine the newness of the place, again. Oh, look where I am! I like this apartment! Sure, I’ve been here before — nine days ago, in fact. I live here. I live there and there, as well, but I’m not in either of those places now. I’m here.
It helps to remind myself of what I like here. The king-sized mattress. The space I don’t need but love. The clothes and shoes that live here and not there.
It also helps to bring the familiar with me wherever I go. My laptop. My dog. My favorite jeans. The new Nikes.
And finally, the most important trick of all: I don’t push myself. Difficult as it is, I try not to feel guilty and slothful for not taking on too much too soon. Instead, I do things small and manageable.
What I’ve done so far…
Saturday when I returned, around 9 am Paris time, I unpacked and slept for almost four hours. For a few minutes, I sat at my desk, staring at my computer screen and impulsively started this piece: a short, somewhat self-serving story about re-entry.
I stop after a few sentences, wondering whether readers will identify. I leave the piece unfinished and am happy to discover a new episode of Better Call Saul.
Yesterday, I, mostly, played Words With Friends. I also realize (bummer!) that the time glitch caused me to miss Saturday’s family World posting.
Today, Monday, I spent an unthinkable chunk of time uploading passport info and health certificates to the Travel Compliance Unit of the Bahamas. I’m not sure whether the task took so long because my brain is still foggy, or because entering a series of dates and numbers are always tricky.
I also (obviously) completed this piece, hoping that at least the twelve people who read me regularly care about my thoughts on re-entry.
What lies ahead…
As it happens, I’m leaving here in three weeks. My next “here” will be New York. A week later, I take my grandson to Baha Mar — a gift for both of us.
Oh, my! More re-entries to come. I’d better stop making plans.
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