I’ll always be leaving somewhere behind. It’s a fact of life that I've yet to come to terms with despite my frequent travels both at home and abroad.
It’s been over two weeks since I’ve returned from a 20-day
trip Honduras and I haven’t written a single word about it.
It’s probably because the transition of returning “home”
is always more difficult than leaving it. It’s
more exciting to leave the familiar than to come back to it. While I can show people pictures and
tell them stories of my time away, they can never really understand the
experiences I had while we were apart.
In the same manner it’s hard to explain to people where I
come from both geographically and historically, especially if there is a great
disparity in location and experience.
How can a Sconnie really explain to a Southerner or a Honduran how when
the weather is perfect all you need is a sweatshirt and jeans make you feel
cozy, or the excitement of Friday night fish-fries, or what the experience of deer camp in the Northwoods is really
about.
As hard as it is relating places and customs to those who
haven’t experienced them it is even more difficult to explain other people to
other people, translating one community to another. I find myself constantly having to explain the characters in
my anecdotes in order to have others understand why a bowl of raisin bran may bring
me to tears or why a random movie quote causes minutes uncontrollable laughter.
I don’t know what I’m try to say but I guess I can sum
things with quote a wise man who told a friend of mine, “Wherever you go, there
you’ll be.”.
I guess we need to the best we can with that.
