I have been home for 14 consecutive days, and I have a confession. I’ve loved every minute of it.
I’ve slept in the same bed, owned my usual routine. I’ve even made it to the gym or done some form of exercise for 13 of 14 days. I cooked about half of the days. I’ve reconnected with friends and drank a few beers. I even went to see a ballet, and I have tickets to the Symphony on Saturday.
I’ve nearly always been a traveler, since I graduated from college. I’m a million miler, and I often have status on more than one airline. I envision a retirement where I regularly travel and explore the world – and I’ve always envisioned that I’d need to do it on a budget. After all, traveling in coach, staying where the locals live, and eating at the “hole in the wall” restaurants seems like the point of travel…staying at the fancy places only brings the experience closer to living in a bubble.
So it’s deeply puzzling to me that my body loves routine. Waking up at the same (damn early) time every day. Working at the same desk. Heading to the gym regularly. Eating healthy but ultimately home cooked food. Connecting with people I love.
Perhaps it’s because I experience two weeks of being a homebody so rarely that I forget how wonderful it truly is to sink into the routine of the usual. And I’m already dreading that next trip, which is coming up soon. Way too soon.
Maybe I should reconsider my retirement plan.