“In 1994, after twenty years of forced exile in the West, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn returned to Russia.”
“Home, where my thought's escaping, Home, where my music's playing, Home, where my love lies waiting, Silently for me.”
On the heels of a road trip or post Trojan War it’s good to be home. Pulling out of the driveway I know adventure waits. Road trips are a mix of planned proceedings and serendipitous encounters. It is the gestalt, the voyage as whole that stirs passion.
Adventure trips come in different packages, i.e. “I am hanging, exhausted, by my fingertips from a rock ledge 23,000 feet above sea level. My right foot searches for a dimple in the rock to push from, fails, them my left foot does the same…”* For me it is a hike to the top of Vernal Falls or my first kayak trip. It is the break from the mundane, the escape from the work week the physical and mental push beyond my sacred safe places.
With eagerness and moments of melancholy I head home. The familiar roads, the town boundary, all comfortably familiar. A hot shower in my own stall with my favorite soap and hot and cold knobs that are familiar to use. Clean sheets complete the process.
It is always good to return home to the comfortable. Friends and family await as do the other uncontrollable stressors that I left behind. I have fought the enemy and denied the Sirens call. My dog bounds out to meet me. My lovers’ smile and hug greet me. Peaceably home again.
*Mike Wallace, The Spirit Aroused, Esquire June 1987