Coming Home

I had just spent four years of my life in England. I was sitting in Heathrow airport in London waiting for an early morning flight when this notion hit me.  Four years living outside of the states. What was it going to be like when I arrived back home?

I have been spending pounds sterling as opposed to dollar's. I have been driving on the opposite side of the road. I have been speaking in English phrases. Do I have an accent? I'm not sure.

Getting off the plane, going through passport control and customs was all routine. Airports are pretty much the same in most of the world. The first thing I remembered when I walked out the doors of the airport was the smell, the smell of home. It's a familiar smell that makes your whole being relax. Something so trivial. Something that you never forget.

My friend picked me up from the airport. Within a few minutes we were on the interstate. Eleven hours ago I was in a foreign place thousands of miles away. A place I lived and had become a part of. As accustom as I was to its everyday routines, it was still foreign to me.

We stop at a gas station to fill up and grab some coffee along with other necessities. The cashier asks us how we are doing and says "Have a nice day" when we leave. As Americans we hear this everyday. I haven't heard this in four years. It was like music to my ears.

We get back on the road. The sky looks bigger here. The land stretches further. I don't know exactly where I am going. What I do know is that wherever I end up in this vast country is fine with me.