When home isn’t “home”

I had the great fortunate traveling to Burlington, Vermont for CASE’s Summer Institute in Communications and Marketing last week. Quick review… Burlington is an adorable little town. The “crepedilla” from Skinny Pancake might be one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. If you are a marcom professional working in higher ed, beg your boss to send you to this conference. You will come home with fantastic contacts, good ideas, and a determination to become more strategic instead of simply being a task monkey.

After recovering from the red-eye, I found that my body happily adapted to being back on Eastern time. I had settled into a comfortable routine and rhythm in Corvallis but there was just something about being back on the East Coast that put me at ease. When I wasn’t in sessions or catching up on work, I could easily chat with friends and family without thinking of the time difference. I wasn’t prepared to feel at home in Vermont but I did.

Maybe a little too at home…

On Thursday night when I was waiting for my plane to leave JFK, I had the strongest urge to simply not come back. I was boarding a plane to go home but suddenly, Oregon just wasn’t home. I felt a tightness in my chest and tears bubbled near the surface when I thought about coming back to a place that is so far away from family and dearest friends. I seriously planned my escape. I pondered what I would need to do to get my checked bag. I wondered if I could call my husband’s family in NYC to have a place to land for a few days.

Thankfully, I am far too responsible and boringly predictable for all of that. I got on the plane and made my way back to PDX. I wasn’t happy but I was coming back. When I woke up on Friday morning, I cried and questioned what I had done. It had been weeks since I felt like that. I went into work on Friday afternoon and kept myself busy with tasks. I was so tired that work pushed away all my anxiety and sad thoughts.

I knew I had to get a handle on this so I treated myself by stepping away from work and driving to the coast yesterday. I had a great time in Newport and felt that maybe, just maybe, I could get used to this. Part of this is doing a better job of taking care of myself, one cannot center everything in her life around work. Fun has to be a part of the equation.

I don’t regret my choice but this opportunity didn’t come without sacrifice. That’s true of many things in life. I am not writing this for sympathy. I want to faithfully document this whole move and just like with life, skipping over the rough parts isn’t an option.

 

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