Stateside, catching my breath after running for months.

My thoughts jump around, my apologies.

Everything is differently the same, here.
I had studied and read in preparation for what would be the hardest part of my journey: the return home.
Articles told me what to expect when I’d arrive back on my continent, I even reviewed the presentation on readjustment from our last disembarkation days on the ship. But even with all of this preparation, the reality of returning home hit me like a rock, or maybe that was jet lag (due to my means of transport I had been traveling for seven months without any jet lag thus far).

America is where I was born, but it doesn’t feel like home. When traveling I always feel at home, you can and do always make friends, even though you don’t speak the language 🙂
In America, I’m at a place where we all speak the same language, but just choose not to talk with each other.

Since I’ve come home, I’ve felt like it’s hard to breathe.

But every now and then there are moments when I feel like I can breathe. These are the moments I need. All other times I’m too out of breath, my mind can’t keep up with my brain and my heart rate. I echo human beings because a chirp is my way to be with them, to speak to them when I am this way. I simply echo their own words with a laugh and a smile, I just realized when I do this…why?

I can breathe when I’m beneath the clear water in the pool, sometimes I almost inhale reminiscent of the many adventures beneath the water that I had in Crete, or upon the water as I went around the world. I swim for hours because hear I feel like I can breathe.

I can breathe when I stand above the world, when I’m on the rooftop and the city is beneath me. I can breathe when I stand where no one can see me, and stare at the lights and houses in their own world. When I stand there above the world, then I can breathe.

When I ride my bike down the hills and through the city streets, when the wind blows in my hair and I feel everything, when I stop to steal an apple, I catch my breath. When I race through the fountains of color and lights, I can breathe. When I hear WagonWheel, or I lived or the songs of our sunsets on the ocean. In these moments I feel I can breathe.

And maybe after 8 months, I’ll finally catch my breath.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s