I spend a lot of time talking about the places I want to go. I admittedly have an absurd amount of wanderlust, and am often swept away staring at maps. I daydream about finding new adventures, and I sometimes drive my husband up the wall when I start dreaming big.
But there’s one part of travel that I think is often overlooked. Coming home. Last week, when we came back from Costa Rica, we did something different. We came home on a Saturday instead of Sunday. This small change made me appreciate the art of coming home that much more. We had a whole day to unwind, unpack and do absurd amounts of laundry. As I sat outside in my little back patio with my cup of coffee and the sun on my shoulders, I closed my eyes and just enjoyed that small moment of bliss.
Whenever I return home, I appreciate the comforts of my life and my routine that much more. But within that, I’m almost always inspired to add a little morsel that I picked up from my travels. For example, we ate Tico-style breakfast all week (eggs, fruit and fried white cheese.) We hung our new masks that we found in a small shop, and we shared our stories. We cook more (there’s nothing like returning to my kitchen after a week of not having my own pots, pans and knives.)
But the thing I like the most about being back home? My quiet moments in the midst of my crazy routine. Coffee in the morning with my husband, snuggling with my cats and listening to my music in my car before starting the day.