Jerry Seinfeld has a comedy routine that is so “me” it’s like he spied on my life before he wrote it. It has to do with never being satisfied with what we have. When we’re home, we say, “We should get out more.” And then when we’re out we say, “We really need to get home.”
That’s me. I have strong homebound roots that, when stretched too thin over time or distance, start to unravel and cause me to become homesick. I’m good for about 8 days of travel and then, sitting in a four-star restaurant eating a dish that took more time to prepare than I’ve spent cooking in my entire life, I start to think how much I like eating cereal out of a bowl at home. Or how a peanutbutter and jelly sandwich would hit the spot. I get misty-eyed thinking about my pillows and my bathroom with the fan that runs too loud and the toilet handle you have to jiggle to get it to quit running. And don’t even get me started on the cats. If I think about my babies home alone, wondering where their Mommy is and why no one has been there to comb them or offer them kisses, I’ll hijack the nearest cab to the airport.
But right now, being home, and writing this, I can’t wait to get away. Problems, stress, bad eating habits—all will disappear when we’re in that magic place called “away.” (Okay, maybe not that last one but a girl can dream). Life will be better, love more intense, and I will have nothing but good hair days. That is the magic we dream of in being “away.”