The saddest part about going on a trip: having to come home

Once upon a time, we used to take multiple trips a year and plan the majority of them out at the beginning of the year so that we always had something to look forward to. There was always a “next trip” on the calendar to greatly anticipate in between the mundane and usual of the everyday with work and nonsensical daily news and politics of the world. Then, the COVID-19 pandemic came crashing down upon us, changing all of our lives in ways we’d never seen in our lifetime. All trips got cancelled. We had no idea when we’d never travel to see a new place.

When boarding the plane yesterday to come back home, all I could think about was: when are we going on another trip? When will we be able to travel freely again? Where will we be going? Where can we actually safely go….?

It’s not that I don’t like home: I obviously love New York, as I’ve willingly lived here the last 13 years. It’s more the idea of having to go back to the daily grind of work, work, and work. And with this trip going home, we’re going to be moving, so we’ll not only have to go back to work, but also start packing up our apartment for our move upstairs. Even though it’s only one floor up, a lot of packing and trips between stairs will need to be done, and who looks forward to moving… ever?

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