I spent a couple weeks in Seattle with my friends, staying at their group house, spending all day surrounded by some of my favorite people.
I worried that once I got back, I'd instantly be consumed by regret that I left their company at all.
But I got off the plane this morning, went through the cold cold air to my house, opened the door, smelled it, saw my whiteboards and my books and my art and my cooking supplies and my couch, and let out a relaxed "aahhhhhhhh."
Now I ran errands and am back with everything set up for me going to a conference, food on the shelves, discount christmas candy, tea, some boxes recycled, cockroaches haven't taken over the house, my parents sent me new headphones and a nice blanket. My arms are sore and I'm tired from the red-eye flight and a nap during the day, so I'm out of it, but... in a pleasant way.
When I was in England, I got the phrase stuck in my head, "you get to keep coming home".
Home doesn't have to be one single place. I can go to Seattle, and come home, and drive to my favorite coffee shop in my college town and walk in, and come home, and see my partner, and come home, and go back to the place I actually have a lease signed, and come home, and go on discord, and come home, and -
I don't know. I get to keep coming home.