Homeless Homebody

I'm alone in my room in Hanoi. Out there is new stuff, real stuff, exciting stuff to explore and experience. But sometimes I get a bit overwhelmed by all the newness and realness. It can be exhausting.

When I lived in Seattle, there were so few sunny days that there was pressure to make the most of the few that you got. "What did you do with the sunny day?" we'd all ask each other, as if reading a book or watching a movie on a sunny day were some sort of misdemeanor.

As a nomad, I sometimes feel pressure to make the most of my time in a new place. Bars! Restaurants! Parties! Museums! Culture! And always an endless stream of new faces. Um, 'scuse me while I crawl into my hole and read my book.

Don't get me wrong. I consider myself very, very fortunate to be able to have new and exciting experiences. But they can't be as comforting as the old, familiar ones. And there's nothing wrong with that, but it's easy to forget.

Some people tell me they're jealous of my trip. I definitely want it to live up to everybody's expectations, my own included. But "to thine own self be true." And the truth is, as a nomad, sometimes I crave a little piece of home.

Now if only I knew where home was...