We pulled into the carport at 9:50pm, after 31 days on the road and in Canada. Unloaded and ready for a shower and bed by 10:30.
Much to share about the trip and the future. But not tonight. Tonight, I sleep in my own bed for the first time in over a month.
And that doesn’t feel like the big deal I thought it would.
Interesting.
For me, who hasn’t spent more than 2 or 3 nights away from my bed for 9 years I thought 3 weeks would have me thrilled to snuggle into MY OWN bed. Now, I do have an almost new, VERY NICE firm, but soft on the top, with a natural wool topper wrapped in organic cotton, bed. In fact, I would say it is delectable (I must be getting tired.) But, even so, it wasn’t the relief and sense of “finally” that I thought it might be…. that I used to experience.
And, as I write that, I think, hmm: it used to be.
A couple of decades ago being away from home for more than 3 nights meant: a) camping in the wilderness having hauled everything I need to the top of something steep, in all likelihood to sleep in something wet or damp; b) travelling, again with a heavy backpack, but this time in cities that, invariably, keep their youth hostels in the red light districts; c) couch surfing the very cheap, very broken down, insufficiently private furniture of my friends who were as broke as I was. This trip: real hotel with real bed, friends & family who can afford comfortable furniture, a little bit of sleeping on an uncomfortable plane.
I remember driving out to the desert, driving until I couldn’t stay awake, and then just parking and sleeping until the crick in my neck woke me up, then finding coffee and driving some more, until I wandered home 48 hours later.
Not no more.