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In Between Trips

For the past couple of months, and for the next one as well, I’ll be traveling so much that the longest I’ll be home is a week at a time. It may seem like a lot, but when my in-between time is spent decompressing from the previous trip and writing about it, plus getting ready for the next one, a few things fall through the cracks.

My house is probably the messiest I’ve seen it in years. Stacks of itineraries, business cards, travel brochures and research material litter not only my desk, but also the dining table. I’m sure I’ve shoved some of it into a temporary home in a drawer or closet as well, but since I can’t figure out where, it’s off my radar for the moment.

Clean clothing from the last trip still waits to be put away, but not until I figure out what I need for the next one. My closet (in the guest room) has expanded out to the bed, and every time I walk in there I just want to walk out.

As much as I love to travel, I also love to be at home. But when my schedule is packed, my home is less a haven than a temporary way station, where I hover while I’m preparing to leave again.

People who know me well enough to understand that for me to be disorganized means something’s seriously off-kilter in my life are probably laughing right now. And you know what? When it’s a summery, sunny day like today and I look at my mountains of papers—all I want to do is put on my swimsuit and walk out the door to enjoy the weather.

Does this mean an end to my freaky, organized ways? Probably not. It’s just a symptom of travel brain.