Reentry

Four months ago, our plane touched down on American soil and we officially completed our round the world (RTW) adventure. Or so we thought. Turns out, the story wasn’t yet finished. Our reentry has been just as much part of the tale as the experiences that required passports.

The first hours were surreal. Our incredible community of friends and family graciously prepared “welcome home” banners, new sheets, and a stocked refrigerator. We couldn’t stop doing snow angels on our carpeted floors, would marvel at the 5Gs available at our cellular fingertips, enjoyed extra-long hot showers, and would giggle each time our refrigerator shot out freshly made ice cubes on demand.

It also felt very unfamiliar. I remember walking through my garden that first morning longing to know what the plants and flowers would choose to do if they were wild. Would they arrange themselves differently? And what’s up with all this Kentucky bluegrass? In the absence of a mower, would the lawn grow tall, bloom, and dance to the rhythm of the wind? Or has it lost all semblance of its original self? Why had I never before thought to ask these desperately important questions? And is this new way of thinking about my garden an accurate metaphor to describe a way in which RTW changed us: A family that shifted from cultivated to rewilded? On some level, perhaps yes.

While I was walking the garden, Eric was scribbling a poem. It seems to capture the sentiment of those early days of reentry:

Linear, structured

Organized, abundant.

Life feels so cleaned up here.

Delivered, shaped, sanded

Smoothed, convenient.

How I long for something raw

Intense

Towering waves offering humility

Tranquil ocean, legs dangling

Sand and mud

And bugs and trees greeting

me

Challenging me

Raw and wild and uncertain

And uncomfortable. 

In our first days and weeks after arrival, we fielded some common questions: “What was your favorite country?” or “How was your trip?”. Soon public conversations about our world adventure faded. We identified deeply with Nelson Mandela’s words: “There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.” From the outside, it appeared as though we simply slid inconspicuously back into the life we had put on pause. Our dinner table chats, however, would suggest otherwise. We centered our conversations on processing and reliving our intimate family pilgrimage… a gift that will inform the final chapters of our RTW story and leave its imprint on us forever.

We discussed our overwhelm and guilt about the vast availability and omnipresent amount of stuff in America. No where else in the world did we witness or participate in the level of consumerism as we do in the US. All of us noticed that, despite the enormous amount of abundance we have in our consumer-driven country, the sentiment of scarcity feels more prominent here in America than elsewhere. We try to keep alive the gift of having witnessed real scarcity so as not to fall to deeply into the hedonic cycle of consumption.

But unsustainable consumption is inevitable. I distinctly remember standing at the checkout counter to purchase my kids’ school uniforms. The tag sewn crookedly on the inside seam read: “made in Madagascar”. The kids in Madagascar don’t get to go to school. Instead, they make uniforms so my kids can. In that moment, I was heartbreakingly and intimately aware of how our American comforts originate from the discomforts of the third world and at the detriment to our Mother Earth. It would be a violation of the uniform policy if I didn’t send my kids to school in those shirts, so I swallowed, made my purchase and then used them to wipe my tears on the drive home.

Alongside consumerism, we were overwhelmed by the pace of life. Immediately upon arrival it was time to sign up for camps, complete school paperwork, plan extracurriculars, and on and on. In America, operating at 110% is the expected metric of success. Having lived our whole lives at this pace, it had never occurred to us that this is not the human norm for the rest of the world. From rural Sri Lanka to metropolitan San Sebastian, other cultures prioritize moving slowly, savoring life, and not measuring self-worth based on the completion of to-do lists. We remain dedicated to keeping this realization alive in our day-to-day lives.

We’ve also noticed personal shifts of experiencing gratitude for things to which we used to feel entitled. Never before did we consider clean water, WIFI, functional ATMs, and Chipotle Mexican Grill as distinct privileges - they just made up the invisible backdrop of our busy American life. It feels good to redefine these commodities as distinct privileges.

Both kids speak of their increased confidence and independence after having schlepped their backpacks around the globe. William dramatically enacts the repositioning of his comfort zone boundary by drawing an invisible line in the air and redrawing it again 50 feet away. For Grace, middle school drama is largely just that - drama. And the idea that something could be impossible is laughable to them. As parents, we notice a new air of self-assurance, depth and wisdom about both kids that was undeveloped before we left.

It finally feels as though our epic tale is coming to it’s natural end. Like picking up a favorite and well-worn novel, we will always cherish rereading the dog-eared chapters of our RTW story together - laughing, crying and connecting on a level never before possible. What an adventure!!

We are curious about what will be revealed in these final pages. And although the last words are yet to be written, we anticipate a cliffhanger in the likes of J.R.R. Tolkien’s quote: "The greatest adventure is what lies ahead.”