It's hard for me to be profound until I've had at least two cups of coffee, so I will spare the four of you who actually read this an attempt at being meaningful.
Returning home from an extended trip somewhere else is often a jarring thing. For example, every time I go back to my parent's house for Christmas I revert back to being the cerebral oldest child, my middle child sister becomes petulant and rebellious, and my youngest sister is the peacemaker desperately trying to hold us all together. Mom and Dad get slowly older, kind of like watching sped up time-lapse photography on a projection screen. This town changes slowly and it's as if the boundaries and parameters of my universe shrink by half.
The old cliche is that You Can't Go Home Again and that's not necessarily true, I think. Each of us has a spiritual homeland and the joke I always crack with those who ask is that I was born hostage here.
Returning home from an extended trip somewhere else is often a jarring thing. For example, every time I go back to my parent's house for Christmas I revert back to being the cerebral oldest child, my middle child sister becomes petulant and rebellious, and my youngest sister is the peacemaker desperately trying to hold us all together. Mom and Dad get slowly older, kind of like watching sped up time-lapse photography on a projection screen. This town changes slowly and it's as if the boundaries and parameters of my universe shrink by half.
The old cliche is that You Can't Go Home Again and that's not necessarily true, I think. Each of us has a spiritual homeland and the joke I always crack with those who ask is that I was born hostage here.