Sitting at LaGuardia, hours early for my flight (I’m a neurotic traveler, would always rather be early), missing my kids like crazy. I’ve written before about my thoughts on traveling for work here. I love that my work allows me to go places, meet people, see things. And mostly while I’m away I’m so busy there’s little downtime to think about home. And, that’s how I like it, that’s how I need it.
I’m a total home body and no stranger to home sickness. I still live in the same town where I grew up. I went to college just a couple hours away, and only made it 3 semesters before moving back home. I don’t like to be away. I need my people to breathe.
In between the busy spaces of my travels there are little bits, thoughts, feelings and longings for home. But, it’s subtle. I liken it to being slowly suffocated, something sitting on my chest getting ever so slightly heavier with each passing minute, hour, day I’m away. Only noticeable when I walk in my front door and pull my kiddos into my arms….at that moment it’s like a rush of air into my lungs. They’re my oxygen. It’s only in that moment that I realize I’ve been holding my breathe the whole time I was away. Somewhere in my brain, counting the moments until I’d be home. Until I could breathe again.
I’m sitting in LaGuardia, nothing to do but miss my babies. Wishing I was home, or at the very least, busy.