I'm laying here in bed, in my Totoro onesie, eating Golden Graham S'Mores, after a day of uncontrollable crying (like full on sobbing, blubbering mess), playing Tetris and sticking close to a few people who fucking see me (seriously, I have the best dang room mates and if you want to fight me over that fact, I will go to blows…and so will they)…(well actually, we’re more of a BJJ house than anything so we’ll take your back and choke you or break an arm).

It's been interesting (to say something about it) since I've been back from my trip abroad. Of course the trip was amazing. I love traveling. Like LOVE it. A lot. I love being on the go, meeting new people from all over the world, hearing their stories, waking up in the middle of the night not knowing which bed, hostel, city or even country I'm in. I love having everything I need on my back, hearing different birds wake me up, navigating through the weirdness and wonder of a new place. Picking up and doing it all somewhere else the next day.  I could keep going.

I came back totally not ready to leave and ready/wanting to travel for at least another month. I came back with this feeling in my guts that something was being torn out of me. Back “home”, with this great pit of longing inside me.

Now, it's not like my life here is all that bad. In fact, it's pretty fucking good. I have a good job which is why I came back when I did. It’s helping me achieve some serious financial goals that I have been working towards for years and that is currently worth staying put for. If you know me, you know that's saying A LOT. My house and room mates are amazing. They're worth coming home to and at the same time, they're worth staying on the road for. Because they love me before I leave,  while I'm gone and after I return. They love the me that left and the changed me that comes home. I have a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and yoga practice that I love. Currently, my life is probably the best it’s ever been while being in one place.

And yet…this thing..it pulls at me. Always. I cant remember it ever not being there. At times it was more of a whisper than a roar. Currently, it’s a ceaseless cascade of thousands of gallons of water crushing past me at every moment. That is actually how it feels..and sounds. There has always been more than a curiosity in my bones to go..everywhere.

I’ve recently come home from my first legit experience abroad and I just..cant. I don’t even know what I cant but I cant.

There has been a sneaking, seeping sort of sadness ever since I returned. It's not uncommon for me to get a little depressed after a long trip. To be clear, I dont consider this sort of trip a vacation. Vacation is getting away from you real life. The trips are real life. Even the short ones. I get confused when people ask if my "vacation" was good because I literally don’t understand what they're asking me.

I was anticipating a period of adjustment after returning. This has been different. I was pretty mad about not being in Ireland for at least 2 weeks after my return. I would close my eyes while walking down the street and imagine I was walking somewhere I've never been. I would cry about not being there. I let those feelings flow and shared them. The anger and sadness started to diminish. Cool. Being back in this life again started to not be so bad in most ways again and I was happy to get on with it.

In the mean time, this other thing started to creep up as the re-entry sadness diminished. And I cant explain it.

Okay…that’s not entirely true. The truth is, I can explain some of it but I simply cannot share the depths of what is happening with anyone that will dismiss it in any way shape or form. So I’m having this experience that not only can I not share with hardly anyone but that I also don’t understand myself. And it's deeply troubling. But mostly because I'm just so fucking sad and I'm not really sure why to be honest.

This is not a chemical imbalance. This is not just a let down from my amazing trip. This is something else. Its some profound energetic witchery on a level that I've never experienced. It's laced with so many dichotomies that I literally don’t know what to do with myself, however I’m able to maintain a sort of eye-of-the-storm calm among the sad. If I'm not suddenly bursting into crocodile tears, I'm numb and everything is fuzzy. I cant focus on things very well or for very long unless they are intensely engaging. And if they arent intensely engaging, odds are good, I will start crying while in the middle of the task at hand.

Ugh…this blog post feels like a dang depression wank-fest with a big, dramatic story to tell but I don’t have a story to tell. It all..just is. And I am sad. I am sad as fuck and I don’t know why.

My life is good. Shelter, food, friends, family, art, money, health, cats.

I don’t know what the fuck is happening and I'm not afraid of that.

I trust in the grand workings of all the things well beyond what my tiny brain can comprehend.

I have purpose.

I am able to give of myself  to those around me AND have it received.

At times I am so exhausted by this and I have no energy for hope, yet I'm not hopeless.

I'm not worried about anything really. Not really. I know the important shit always works out whether I worry about it or not.

I don’t feel lost..at all. Or aimless. I know what I want and I'm working towards all that a little bit everyday and not putting pressure on myself to be fucking perfect about it but to enjoy the shit out of it instead.

I have racked my damn brain so hard to try and figure out why the fuck I'm so sad right now and I simply cannot figure this one out. It feels like I'm in the thickest of fogs, not quite sure when I entered and at this exact moment, I’m collecting myself after losing my shit, totally lost in the middle of it. And yet..I'm still in the middle of it. I think the hard part may be that I have no idea where I am in relation to..ANYTHING! I'm just…sort of…here. I can sing and dance in the middle of the fog. I can cry and talk to my friends. I can do all the things in the middle of the fog and I keep doing them but…It all feels out of context in a really strange way. As though I am all these pieces floating around me that haven't quite clicked together yet. So none of it seems to makes sense. And I am ALWAYS trying to make sense of things. So letting go of needing to make sense of this fog shit has been a journey in itself. I have only pieces to a giant puzzle that I am trying so hard to put together but I have no picture as a frame of reference for where any of these pieces go. Or what the big picture even looks like! And continually trying to solve that puzzle without all the pieces is making me feel a bit nuts.

You could say I'm floating, but I'm not drifting.

I don’t see myself or anything I'm doing in relation to anything but I don’t feel like any of it is meaningless. The total opposite in fact but I still don’t know with what or how it means anything.

I'm alone in this but I am not lonely.

It all kind-of feels like nothing, but it all still matters.

With all that, I'm really okay. But these tears have the run of the joint currently and it seems as though today, my job is to let them be in charge, for me to ride the waves and see what happens on the other side. Maybe, just maybe, I can begin to be curious about the endless possibilities of what's on the other side of this fog. When I go to that place, I'm actually excited as hell.