Bookends

Right now I'm en route to my home in New York City. I felt an odd sense of anxiety and apprehension about my trip today; I woke up with butterflies in my stomach. It's been four wonderful and challenging months of travel; what will it be like to go back to a more regular schedule? Also, how will I manage to unpack everything I had packed up and squirreled away before I left my apartment?

The past week has been important in several ways. I not only needed a physical break from the show (my energy levels were pretty low from doing so many shows in such a short period of time), but I finally had time to catch up with friends and loved ones who live in my former home city. I had forgotten how many connections I have there, and reconnecting with so many folks has warmed my heart. Even though I don't live in Washington anymore, my relationships there continue to grow.

I have this theory that the older you get, the faster you perceive time to pass. For example, when I was in school, an entire grade, which is only 9 months, felt like an eternity. Even in college, the prospect of graduation on the horizon of four years seemed impossibly far away.

The last four months have flown by in the blink of an eye. I remember packing up my car and saying goodbye to my apartment on a sunny afternoon in September, and now I'm headed back to where I left off.

Come March, I will celebrate my one-year anniversary with New York City. I don't seem to notice my own aging process as much as I see it reflected in others. How is it possible that my little brother has his own apartment and a full-time job, and how can my friends made in the 8th grade be turning the bend into their late-20s?

I've got these little wrinkles under my eyes that no amount of lotion or makeup seem to erase. My first wrinkles. While this may seem absurd and obvious, its a little bit of a shock to me. Time is passing. My face shows it.

Although the show has been over for a week, the heavy page of that chapter hasn't turned until today. The bookends of leaving/coming home to New York City help me put it into perspective.

Goodbye Truck and Van, I hope to see you again sometime.

And I'm okay with cashing in the open road in for a faster-paced, yet more predictable life. My wander-lust is temporarily satiated, and I can't wait to return to my happy street in Queens.