I bought my plane ticket “home” to the US yesterday. I arrive in Portland August 25th, exactly a year from the date I left.
Buying my ticket back is almost as surreal as when I bought my one-way ticket to Morocco about a year ago- but this time, since what I'm returning to is at least partly known, the reality will sink in quickly. When I came this direction, I had no idea how it would all unfold, which made it all so much more dream-like.
There was a lump in my throat as I hit “send” for charging the big sum to my credit card. And for the rest of the day, I felt like I was on the verge of tears. Despite not feeling great, I drug myself to Ma'alem Seddik's, as I knew I needed the music to put me at ease. It worked. I ended up staying late with Hassan, Seddik and another guy, laughing and chatting until almost 2 AM.
The thing is, I don't want to come home. Even despite being tired and even despite the fact that I'm a bit lacking in inspiration and energy at the moment. Going even deeper than that, I'm scared to come home. I'm scared about how to fit back in, I'm scared about how I will pay my mortgage, I'm scared that after this year of being away, of finding so much of my happiness here, that “normal” life back home will be all the harder to accept. I'm even scared about silly things like my place in my community of friends will have disappeared.
I'm coming back a different person than the person who left Portland and once again, there are so many unknowns. For some reason, these unknowns scare me more than the ones I signed up for by coming here -maybe because I feel like I've been more myself the last year than I was over the last several years of living in Portland. I don't know how to reconcile who I am now with the realities of life when I get back.
But just as I told myself when I got on that plane to Casablanca last August, every day is just about taking one step at a time. There's no way to really prepare for life.
