What are you doing out there anyway?

What are you doing out there anyway?

Sometimes, I just want to exchange pleasantries with a stranger at a gas station pump

Browse the local authors shelf at a library I’ll never go into again

Collect acorns that look so different from the ones on my street, but will sprout into magnificent oak trees nonetheless

Watch a sunrise over a different urban roofline

Order beignets instead of crullers

This time, we couldn't stop staring at the bridges

Marveling at how many there are, in every direction, crossing ravines and valleys, bays and marshes

Wondering if they were new or just recently painted

Holding a collective breath as we crossed, and they held fast every time,

Safe passage through our curiosity

Home looks different through traveler’s eyes

That scent will hit you when you turn the key and open the door for the first time in a week, a month, a year.

But pay close attention, because it only stands out for a few short minutes.

You can see your life as a stranger would, which mostly ignites gratitude, but may also spur you to finally patch that crack in the back stoop, move the chair to a better spot by the window, exchange pleasantries with a neighbor you’ve known for a decade at the gas station down the block. Bask in familiarity. Appreciate that the market has your favorite brand of milk. Enjoy the incremental change of a sunset from the same spot each evening.

So what am I doing out there anyway? Is it for the adventure or the homecoming?