Homecoming

I have kissed a public toilet. Yes, I sat on the floor of the Atlanta airport, wrapped my arms around the toilet bowl and kissed it. After weeks of carrying my own toilet paper around in my backpack and squatting over latrines in the ground I was thrilled to see a clean bathroom stall with free toilet paper and an automatic flush.

I was returning to the States from a trip to Peru when I irrationally embraced the john. Believe me now that a few years have gone by since I flew in from Lima, I cringe at the memory of pressing my lips to the porcelain. But in the moment, I thought I could never be happier to be home.

I love those moments at the end of a trip when you step back into your world.

Isn’t it funny how you always know immediately that the non-descript airport you’re walking into is your home airport? Maybe it’s the familiar greetings of passersby or by the humidity outside that you notice as soon as you leave the plane. Sometimes you are elated for the comfort of a happy homecoming, other times the familiar sites seem just a little bit more horrifying than when you left.

When returning from Spain the first thing I saw on my way into the Philadelphia airport was a smashed mouse. The poor dead thing had been rolled over by at least one other hand held bag and laid there unnoticed right in the middle of the jet bridge. As soon as I stepped off the plane and saw that mouse I sighed. Ahhh- dead mice and disgruntled staff- this must be Philadelphia- I'm home.

Next time you return from a trip, take notice of that irrationally happy feeling you get when you step onto familiar soil again. Celebrate the journey away but also find a way to welcome yourself home.