The Long and Short of It

Little did I know it would take me a full week to recover from eight days in Europe. It's been rough transitioning back into my Minneapolis world—not because of jet lag, but because of the overwhelmingly decadent taste of a life I never knew was out there. International travel always felt like something other people did—an adventure I could only ever dream about. Italy was the most beautiful place I've ever seen, the best thing I've ever done with my life, and the best investment I could have ever spent money on. I'm not sure why some people can pop overseas for a week and easily integrate themselves back into the real world when they return, and I have to spend a week feeling lost in my own home, constantly fighting tears and questioning any previous plan I had for my life. All I want is out of here, onto bigger and brighter things—the old in the rearview mirror and the new through a rose-tinted windshield. They always say the grass is always greener on the other side. If you have the drive, what's wrong with hopping every fence?