It’s a Small World

Uganda 2022

Three days before a trip I feel it creeping on. It starts as a niggling belly ache, general restlessness and an overwhelming love for all things in my house. Enter, the dreaded trip blues. By zero hour I can hardly swallow, my stomach cramps, and I drive my family mad by alternately sighing, shivering, and giggling.

I’ve tried to assess it, have even googled it, but I can’t figure it out. Is it fear of flying? Nope. Fear of accidents? Nope. Sickness? Nope. Getting stuck in a foreign airport? Nope. Leaving work? Leaving my plants? Forgetting something horrible important? Nope, nope, nope, nope. It’s not even the mice that I’m leaving in charge of the house, even tho I didn’t arrange for anyone to run my trap line.

By the time I’m firmly ensconced in my upright airplane seat, my mood has vastly improved. (Upright, cause it’s the cheapest seat and smack against the bathroom wall) Instead of having stage 4 something, I just have a few vague symptoms. When the steward hands me a Coke, the last vestiges of melancholy disappear, and I can embrace adventure.

It’s a pain, living with a divided head. I think I’m officially half homebody, half explorer. Or maybe it’s 2/3rds explorer, because when the fight is on, that side always wins. But the fact remains that I deeply love my home. I love my routine, my weighted blankets, my flowers and my bed. I will miss my Sunday School class, my morning Red Bull, and the ladies at the bank.

On second thought, maybe I won’t miss all that stuff. My coke is almost gone, and I can feel the plane loosing altitude as we get closer to Chicago. My toes curl with anticipation in my freshly dyed shoes, and suddenly home is a mere speck in my mind.

Bring it on, Africa! With your blazing sun and comedy everywhere you look. Your dusty dirty-ness and foods that make one shudder, and the best of all…our boy!

Oh. Why are my hands a funny color? Shame on you shoe dye! You promised this stuff wouldn’t rub all over. Better luck next time.