Well, first of all, I’d like to say welcome back. For those of you that know me, and moreover those of you that only know me through 14 of our closest mutual facebook friends, allow me to re-introduce myself. No, my name is not HOV (H-to-the-O-V) but rather Anastasia, or simply Asia for short. I enjoy long walks on the beach, adorable puppies, and of course, an occasional blog or so.
It has been well over a month since this site has seen any action and I would certainly consider this my longest public dry spell. Given that I am a woman of my word, I promised myself (as well as a few eager readers) that I will come back with some juice, excitement, and an occasional chuckle for the everyday soul.
A few months prior, I had made travel arrangements and accommodations to venture to the holiest place on earth, Israel. As I began rummaging through old files and photos on my laptop, I was slightly puzzled as to why I never shared these memorable experiences and life moments in print. “Seems like forever ago” I thought to myself, as propped my body against the edge of the pillow and hit ‘play’ to preview the slideshow.
The trip itself was immaculately organized and strategically planned for months in advance (organized trips have never been my calling, but I suppose international travels call for a more structured regime). I was traveling with a surplus of 40+ other young, primarily Jewish individuals, with little to no knowledge of the language and just enough hand sanitizer to last me a 12 hour plane ride.
If you had casually asked me 6 weeks prior on my arranged return date, I would have simply shrugged my shoulders, raised both brows, and gazed at you with these sympathetic brown eyes giving no signs or ever returning to the red, white, and blue United States of America. Truth be told, I had no intention on coming home until I thoroughly found myself, the messiah, or perhaps a small Jewish child to care for, thus establishing some type of Israeli citizenship.
Like I said, if you had asked me six weeks prior, I would have rationalized this behavior as perfectly normal, and seemingly feasible. What I had not planned in the weeks leading up to this long overdue sabbatical was to find myself 6,000 miles away, craving the attention of my then fling, comfort of old friends, and coziness of our 1500 square foot apartment I call home.
After 10 days of living out of the contents of one suitcase, enduring twin beds, and fueling up on fried falafel, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t ready to come home. While abroad, I had gradually managed to become less interested in meeting new people, and more focused on reconnecting with the old ones. Although I had the world at my feet, and exotic men at my fingertips, I couldn’t shake the notion that I was indeed, still a foreigner in this new land.
Without consciously knowing it, I had never been more homesick in my life (okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, I was only gone for 10 days). For me, the opportunity to leave seemed more desirable than the option of staying, and at first, the idea of returning home was less of a priority, and more of a possibility. At the time, I had no romantic commitments, my friends remained immersed in their post-college lifestyles, and personally I had no interest in re-entering into the doors and entrances of industry and corporate America. For me packing up my bags wasn’t just an option, but rather an escape from the real world I so sleepily walked into.
I guess that’s the thing about leaving. We plan our entire lives to be somewhere else; until we spend enough time there to realize we can’t wait to get back. I yearned for adventure and change, but I secretly craved stability and routine. I smiled with strangers, shared stories with friends, and snapped enough pictures to put any Prom or Graduation albums to shame. I taught myself to pack light, and go far. But no matter how convincingly packed and prepared I appeared to be before I left, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had forgotten something important back at home.
Ironic isn’t it? The lengths we go to leave, and the extremes we go to come back.
