Arriving Home

May 29, 2012

It looked the same. I’m not sure what I was expecting but the house and yard looked essentially the same as when I saw it last. There were a few differences, of course, brought about by the change of seasons. The lawn was green and the trees had leaves that weren’t there in January but other than that things looked essentially the same. Being gone and living a fundamentally different life for almost five months, though, made me believe that things would have looked more different than they did.

But things felt differently. First, everything felt ‘too big.’ When you have lived on a ship for any period of time, where space is a commodity, you become comfortable with tight quarters and lots and lots of people. Frankly, everything in my house now seemed supersized, and with only three people living in it for the summer I was shocked by home many times I had large amounts of space to myself. My routine was also completely different and I tried to remember the rhythms of home life. Most of them felt comforting and welcoming, but they did require a conscious adjustment. Where others go on vacation so that they don’t have to make their bed, clean their house, or cook their own food, my vacations returned me to that responsibility. Also, my ‘community’ had changed to a much smaller and intimate one, requiring me to act with greater awareness and concern for the specific needs of two other individuals but able to give less consideration to the next 1200 people I met.

My actions and behavior had fallen into patterns that were tied to ship life. The simple act of greeting everyone I encountered with more formal greetings than a Coloradan would normally do was now ingrained ritual and would take some time to unravel. The phrases and words that were effective shorthand on a ship were sources of amusement to those on shore.

The bigger change was probably my simple state of mind. When I left in January I brought the stress of having not had secured income for several months and being unsure of what path might be unraveling in front of me. Now I brought with me the comfort of a job well done and the opportunity to do that or a similar job for many years to come. At the same time, I faced the question of wondering how long I would feel comfortable living on a ship. There are many, many perks to living on a ship. But it comes with a high cost as well, the cost of being separated from those with whom you have built a life for many years. Fortunately, in the 21^st Century one can reach out to people daily and ‘converse’ via email, Facebook, phone or even Skype. As a result, working on a cruise ship is mostly a young person’s game. I am the aberration, perhaps a fool on a fool’s errand. There are brief moments when I wonder why I would ever go back. There are other moments when I contemplate what difference I can make here and where the path might lead.

And so, for now . . .

. . . the adventure WILL continue . . .