Since the few weeks I have been back, I have been struggling with writing. It is honestly difficult to go from awestruck-tourist to everday-observalionalist. Let me start by saying that I long for my van. Here at home, I am stuck in everyone else’s problems—maybe escaping was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Yet, that wasn’t was what I was trying to accomplish. I wasn’t running away—I was running toward something: Adventure, the unknown, an unforeseen future…who knows. And that was the whole point. I wanted to be open to it all. You see, I am cursed with optimism. I am that glass-half-full, annoying, chirping person who will always see the positive side of things, which is why I will never understand pessimists and narcissists.

Being on the road for the last few months has treated me to a group of people who wake up every day and are amazed. We wandered campgrounds and National Parks, jaws gaping, wondering how on earth such beauty could exist (yet, still trying to maintain the “it’s totally cool” look). It’s a juggling act—you can only feign superiority for so long before you pitch up on a natural bridge or an arch and just gasp. Even the most curmudgeonly or savvy among us was rendered speechless. And that’s what I miss. Here, at home, I have been treated to tales of sorrowful misunderstandings and self-absorbed bullshit and I am left feeling like everyone takes everything for granted. To boot, I have tried to have conversations with actual humans who refuse to raise their eyes from their screens.  No, Thank You. Seriously, it’s like talking to a parking meter.

We are out here; living life and not playing Words With Friends. And, by the way, they really aren’t your friends—those would be the people standing right in front of you.

Once again, stepping off my soapbox, but in the hopes that we can all play in the schoolyard again.