I didn’t expect to feel the loneliness of traveling when I got home. My daily life feels foreign, and my native tongue is no longer an adequate connector. I’m home, yet I’m very much still traveling by myself. And so, I suspect, this isn’t a blog post about traveling. Maybe its a post on how past is always dying whether we kill it with a passport or the passage of another day. We don’t have to travel to face the unfamiliar. We don’t have to leave town to adventure into our own lives. Solitude, space, and distance are wrapped in more than miles or yards.