One year later.

Well, this is it. Today is the one-year anniversary of my return from My Travel Year. One year ago today I woke up in Honduras and went to sleep in Connecticut. One year ago I bid goodbye to the life of freedom I had grown accustomed to over the previous ten months. I returned home to my family and a hectic schedule of holiday visits. To cold weather and the responsibilities of a job search (admittedly I didn't jump on that too quickly) and ultimately to the 9-to-5, earning-a-salary-and-paying-bills lifestyle.

Some days, I start to wax nostalgic about my travel life. I think about the decisions I made each day: stay or go? what to see? who to talk to? where to go next? who to travel with, who to leave behind? The decisions I make these days seem so much more mundane: what to wear? which e-mails to respond to first? what to make for dinner? I am struck by the lack of control I seem to have on my day-to-day life. I have to go to work, because I have to earn money, because I have to pay my bills. Sometimes I think about the freedom I had last year and I get a sick feeling inside, because I'm afraid I'll never have that again.

But then, I remember the good things about coming back. I love being closer to my family. I love having a home to return to each day: parking lot, mailbox, house keys; familiar table, familiar bed, familiar shower. I like my job. I like being productive and sharing my ideas. I like seeing the same people each day and getting to know some of them. I like the fact that I am starting to get to know the streets and shops and landmarks of my new home, and that slowly, bit by bit, I am starting to meet people and make friends.

I would never choose to live a nomad's life forever. I loved travelling (and I definitely plan to do my fair share of it in the future) and this one-year mark is sad because those days keep moving further and further back into my past. But I need stability as much as I sometimes need adventure. As hum-drum as the daily routine can be, that's normal life and that's what I want. But I wish everybody could have the chance I had last year--to discover total freedom, and to escape from responsibilities and the demands of the modern world.

And of course, if someone offered to trade my Aeron chair in my office for a hammock on a Caribbean beach, I'd take that trade in a flash.