The opposite of homesickness.
Coming home from Sicily, and feeling the pull of the next place before I’ve fully unpacked the last one.
A week back
I’ve been home from Sicily for about a week now, which is long enough to start answering the ordinary questions again. How was the trip? What did you do? Did you have a good time? The answer is easy: yes. It was great being there. I got to work on the property, explore more of Sicilian culture, meet some really nice people, and settle into a different rhythm for a while.
A different flow of life
There is something about the way people go about their daily life there that feels like a different time. The pace is not necessarily slow, but it has a different kind of attention in it. People sit longer. Meals have room around them. A quick errand can become a conversation, and a conversation can become the thing you remember about the day. Working outside at Villa Vagabunda made that feeling even stronger. I was lifting stone, trimming bushes, peeling paint, sweeping, using whatever tool was needed, and working up a sweat in the sun. The task in front of me was usually enough.
The lull after the high
When I get home, I feel what I can only describe as the opposite of homesickness. It is not that I dislike being here. I like coming back to my own bed. I like diving into work and getting excited about a creative idea. I also look forward to seeing my cat, Shooter. But there is a lull after a trip like this, a little letdown that feels like coming down from a high. My body is home before the rest of me catches up.
What I see differently
Sometimes I notice things around town that trouble me more than they used to. The noise, the hurry, the way everyone seems to be moving toward the next obligation. I find myself wondering if I am stuck in a place where I do not quite belong anymore. That feeling is uncomfortable, but it is also useful. It tells me the trip changed something, even if I cannot name exactly what.
Not running away
Within a couple of days of resting, I am already thinking about where I can go next. I am not running from anything. I think I am running toward that next neat moment: the next new food, the next person I might meet, the thing around the next corner. I want to keep that part of myself without turning it into a refusal of home. The challenge is learning how to bring some of Sicily’s attention back with me.
Keeping the thread
Maybe that is what travel is for. Not to replace your life, and not to make home seem small, but to give you another way to see the life you return to. I am trying to keep the thread: make something with my hands, stay curious about the people nearby, leave a little more room around the day. The next place will come when it comes. For now, I am still unpacking Sicily.