There’s No Place Like Not Home
Another tour group clamors in and I lift my head in annoyance, glancing at the next tour guide who will explain this cafe’s history as a bank, the illustrious background of the grand Canadian building from which I have chosen to work today.
No doubt, the room has the kind of over-done splendor that exists so rarely today, let alone in a funky cafe with great wifi that has been installed in this architectural juggernaut by a design collective whose employees sit just on the other side of a glass wall. The gawking tourists, however, do nothing for my workflow, and the disruption sends me straight back to Buzzfeed for yet another 20-minute interlude in my workday.
Through my irritation, however, a sense of deep peace bubbles to the surface.
That may sound like an oxymoron to some, but to those who have spent the past year with me, I know that somewhere deep down you must be able to relate.
I know that over the course of twelve months of travel, we grew accustomed to a sort of regular chaos. The little frustrations that became a normal part of our days, the way discomfort became a state of being more than a source of vexation.
The confusing actuality that perfection suddenly doesn’t feel so much like home, that quiet seems more like loneliness, that easy makes you itch somewhere deep down inside like sitting in the same place for one more second might kill you.
The tiny wave of discontent that just washed over me makes me suddenly feel alive in a way that I’ve been missing for almost two months. I’ve only ventured as far as Montreal, but the sudden jarring discomfort is there, right where it should be. I’m a glutton for newness.
There’s no place like not home.