Coming home is never quite so strange

I’m back in America and I’ve never felt the weirdness of everyone speaking English hit me so deeply. It would be ridiculous to come back & act like I’ve never sat in automatic SUVs, gulped watery coffee and vegged out for hours during a Law and Order marathon (guilty, guilty, aaand guilty) because Europe has changed me so intrinsically I can’t even recognize myself, but — after so many days with my sister as my co-pilot and the beautiful, tiring places we visited as temporary homes, my dad’s ever-familiar Trailblazer and the road I’ve taken to his house so many times rang dissonant to whatever I was feeling then.

I feel changed, and its hard not to want to tell everyone and gush and bring up every minute story from a life you can’t ever really get back to again. The only thing, really, is to take everything I’ve learned in France and use it — not to act like an asshole, but to change the things in my life that were unsettling enough to want to move across the Atlantic for. Because there were people and things about New York that I missed so much & am so glad to have back & at my fingertips, but already I can feel myself slipping into the burrowing-into-my-childhood-bedroom mode.  The couponing-marathon-on-TLC-sign-me-up mode. Maybe I’m not giving myself enough credit. Maybe these are just symptoms of jet lag, and my magical European self will emerge, Angel of Uzupis-style, from nothing.

Family craziness in Berlin, Krakow, Vilnius, Kaunas and Paris to come!


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