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There’s this moment that happens to me on every single vacation. It’s usually on the second or third day, somewhere in the lull between breakfast and whatever activity we half-planned for the afternoon, when I suddenly find myself missing home so much it surprises me.
It’s not that I’m not having a good time—because I am. The sun is warm, the drinks are cold, and the bed I don’t have to make feels luxurious. But even with my toes in the sand, I catch myself thinking about my porch light at night. The one I always leave on from 6pm to 6am. About how the coffee just tastes different in my “K” mug. About the way my house smells like laundry and vanilla and something faintly cooked-in (skillet chicken perhaps?).
I used to travel to escape routine. It felt so good to shake things up, to be somewhere strange and new, to forget (briefly) that I had a list of things waiting for me. But you know what? Lately, something’s shifted. I think it might be me—I’ve shifted.
These days, I go on vacation and realize exactly how much I like my routine. How comforting it is to putter around in my own kitchen. How happy it makes me to know which drawer the scissors are in. How amazing it feels when my grand-baby runs into the house and flings his little arms around my legs like I’m the greatest thing since string cheese (and he really loves his string cheese!).
And speaking of GB’s (which is what I call my grand-babies for short). Nobody tells you that becoming a grandma makes your heart grow in so many new ways. So, while I’m on vacation, watching a sunset from a beach chair under a palapa, all I can think about is them. Wondering what they’re doing right now. Are they sleeping well? Driving their mama crazy? Getting new teeth? Asking for more snacks?
But, it’s not just them. It’s all of it. The rhythm of my life—the one I used to want to escape—has become the very thing I cherish most. And the even funnier thing is, home is no longer something I need a break from. It’s the thing I look forward to the most.
I kind of hate to admit this, but I think aging may have something to do with it. And not in a sad way, but in a way that feels deeply rooted. I’ve had my seasons of youth and spontaneity—and that version of me is still in there somewhere, but she’s much softer now. Much happier with slower mornings, familiar places, and she loves needs her routine.
I guess what I’m saying is this—I’ve (finally) learned you don’t have to be far from home to feel far away. And sometimes, the best part of traveling is realizing just how good it feels to be home.
So yes, I do love a getaway. I love the change of pace, the break from dishes and the laundry (albeit temporary), the little thrill of new and unfamiliar places. But give me a few days, maybe 5 at the most—and then give me my house, my people, my pajamas, my gym, and my preferred grocery store. Because no matter where I go, I always circle back to the same truth, home isn’t something I need a vacation from. It’s the place I’m happiest returning to.
