I’m unsure why, but as time goes on, the less and less I enjoy being away from home. Our family went on a little trip this week, stretching merely Monday-Wednesday. It was an absolute joy and the kids had a blast, but I couldn’t help but want to be back at home having the usual evening routine after only 24 hours.
I’ve always considered myself a homebody—an introvert to a high degree. But, at the same time, I’ve always enjoyed being in the car on a road trip or exploring and learning about new places. Now though, it feels as though that is coming to an end in some capacity. Or, at the very least, undergoing a serious transition. I crave routine. I crave the simple, almost boring evenings at home with my wife watching our favorite shows, playing our favorite video games next to each other, and snacking on our favorite treats after tucking in the kids for bed.
It feels strange to be so complacent with the mundane. But it also feels like the inevitable after the first 30 years of my life, which saw me move more than 15 times, attend 12 schools from pre-K through college, and go through cancer at the age of 19 (which coincided with a then-gutting breakup that more or less altered my entire social life).
After all of that, simple feels safe and solitude feels sublime. It’s taken a decade of active measures to get to a place where simple is achievable and solitude is obtainable (as much as is possible with a five-year-old and four-year-old at home). So, for now, I’ll embrace this stage of life and continue to embrace the minimal stress and complications it affords.