That’s how long it’s been since we parked the van outside our house and put the key in our own front door for the first time in seven months. In some ways, it feels as if we were never away; in other ways it still feels new and lacking permanence.
Four weeks on, there are still things to unpack and re-assimilate. We are shocked by how much ‘stuff’ we have. When we left, we crammed everything we weren’t taking into the garage and now, bringing it back in to the house, much of it seems surplus to requirements. Do I really need four different pairs of black trousers? Is an entire shelf full of mugs necessary? A PC, a laptop and a tablet? Dozens of pairs of socks? After having just what we needed and no more for so long, the amounts we have of things seem absurd. Equally superfluous is the space we have. Anyone who knows our house might laugh at this – it’s not exactly a mansion – but we’ve got used to living in a small space, be it a two-man tent, a log cabin or a croft. This is the first time we’ve had two floors since we moved out in July. We’ve joked about renting the upstairs out on Airbnb.
Our intention on returning home, but not yet to ‘work’ (Jeff’s sabbatical is until September), was to keep the same routine we had in Scotland, with space for creativity and nature… But it’s been hard not to slip back into old habits when all the stimuli around us are so familiar. I want to get out for early-morning walks with my binoculars and listen to the birdsong, but instead I’m marching Morris around the field worrying about my future… I want to pick up the guitar and practise my chords, but instead I’m touting for work in a panic about money. Everything seems the same but actually, everything is different.
This is not a completely-unfamiliar feeling. I’ve been ‘travelling’ before: twice actually – a year in Australia and then almost two years away in Thailand, Vietnam, Borneo and Australia. I know that coming home can leave you feeling flat and wondering – in the words of the great Peggy Lee – ‘Is that all there is?‘ But I was young then. And somehow, a few months in Scotland didn’t seem to qualify as ‘travelling’ in the same way that backpacking around south-east Asia does. So the coming-home blues have taken me by surprise.
One legacy of our trip is the increased length of the Morris’s walks. It’s led us to explore further from home (I even discovered a new running route). And we’ve started to go to the beach more often – it’s so near (we can see the sea from the bedroom window on a sunny day)
…and yet we’ve never quite made it a habit before. It’s hard to be heavyhearted when you reach the top of the dunes and look out across that vast expanse of sand, practically deserted at this time of year. Morris loves it.
It feels churlish not to appreciate being home when we live somewhere so lovely. I’m getting there…I just have to wait for my heart to catch up. I think I left it somewhere along the M9.
Running Ink 