Coming Home

Long time, no post, huh? I'm in San Francisco for business, and it's all much more sexy than it sounds (trust me). But I like saying that...."I'm in San Francisco for business....". I'll let it linger there on the tongue.

I do not have a job where I travel across the country, but by chance I am here, sitting in a hotel room (facing a highway and not the bay, alas), and taking stock of things. Traveling always puts me in a contemplative mood. I sometimes travel regionally for work and I relish the alone time. I think Matt does, too. You're never very alone with yourself and your thoughts in everyday life, you know? I like removing myself from my suburban life for a bit, even if it's just a late train ride from New York or a hotel in central Pennsylvania. I like missing home; it reminds me what good I have.

This trip is no different, and I needed to take stock. To breathe in. To exhale. I haven't had a deep breath in three months. I wish I dealt better with stress, but my body tightens and it's fight or flight all day long. And poor Matthew. Every night I cry and he looks on, helplessly. Matt is never stressed. It's a gift because I often am. But, he admits, he has it easy. He loves his job. He is in perfect health. Above all, he has the perfect wife (okay, okay, it's a joke!).

Stress and Crohn's do not mix well, but my intestines have behaved. Usually before a flight I run to the bathroom no less than three times, my nerves working their churning magic. I hate flying, and I hate the thought of limited bathroom access. But this week's flight I sat at the gate, eating my bagel and...was fine. This afternoon I have the window seat home. It's enough that my bowels constantly inconvenience me, but now I have to inconvenience two other people when I ask them to get up to use the bathroom? Those two innocent souls have no idea what they're in for.

I was at dinner with a dear friend last week. We talked about work, about my health, about my fruitless baby making, and how I thought I'd have more to show for myself by my late twenties. She is her early thirties and said, "I hated my twenties! Do you remember how depressed I was? I'm so much happier now." So now I think everyone has a late twenties rut, and agony likes company, right?

I'm enjoying how this trip put things in perspective and how much I want to walk through the front door. For me, that's where it begins, and ends.