We have been on the road for almost four months now. Norway and Croatia have felt like second homes, and we have had more time as a family than I could have ever dreamed of. I think we are all feeling a little ready for a new adventure, a further step. As the girls said, “mom, I am ready to have my bubble burst,” to see more that surprises them and challenges their worldview. We intentionally did it this way, starting in a northern, rural western country and traveling to places increasingly different from our own as we went. However, what I realized when I came back to the United States for the week was how much we had acclimatized to our new environments, and coming home was a bit of a shock.
My bubble was burst by the customs agent when I landed in Denver who gave me a fist bump and said “glad to have you home girl.” Mind you I have never met this man in my life. He acted like a long lost friend and greeted me with a smile the size of Texas. I wasn’t sure anyone I didn’t know had smiled at me in four months and a warm welcome caught me off guard. I was reminded of a waiter in Croatia who when he asked what I would like I said “a cappuccino please” and he said “American, so easy to spot.” I was a little taken aback, I didn’t think the cappuccino was that American of me, I pressed back, how was I that easy to spot, what did he mean by that? After pressing he conceded, “I can understand you, and you think everyone is your friend and everyone is going to do you a favor.” It was clear in the first second of the conversation that he was a quick-witted Serbian man on this Croatian island interested in geopolitics with a fresh memory of the Balkan wars. I love how he challenged me saying “you may have had 200 years of peace, but it is only the illusion of peace as you cause war for others.” and we had fascinating and respectful conversation about the role of the US, the EU and the palpable tensions in this still healing, yet divided nation only covered by the superficial glitz of the robust Croatian tourist industry. Let say, he didn’t give me a fist bump but helped me recognize the American smile in this customs agent.
I had traveled for a year after college and I still clearly remember the pattern of organized, clean, massively expansive carpet of the LA airport when I first came home. I remember feeling overwhelmed by how organized and large the climate controlled the US was, (but I was coming from South Africa at that time.) I remember it almost taking my breath away, almost like being squeezed. This time however it was a palpable feeling of joy as I floated through the crowds, lost in the delight of being one of many in this busy, multicultural hustle that surrounded me and all those Western smiles.
The hallway from the international terminal to customs at DIA airport is lined with beautiful larger than life portraits of Native Americans as a stark reminder of who’s land this was. A black woman with two small children was helped with her bags by a white man in a Stetson cowboy hat and cowboy boots. Instead of large groups of Asian tourist listening to their tour guide in bluetooth headphones, an elderly Japanese woman and her grandson grabbed their bags next to a woman with a hijab traveling on her own next to a sizeable bubbly family speaking in Spanish. America felt like this beautiful, casual, and messy world of extraordinary diversity.
The ease of the moment was also striking. Granted I was in Utah, but the roads were huge and straight and logical. The customer service focused business world made my first day back feel like a dream. I bounced through an extensive list of errands loving my to go coffee, NPR on the radio, huge smiles and increased efficiency of every stop. The “money back guarantees” on a few clothing items that have not done so well in our time traveling were transformed into new additions to our minimal word and felt very different than bantering in Croatia for a dress. It may have helped that was a perfect Utah fall day, 50 degrees, perfectly blue skies, white-capped mountains, and beautiful yellow leaves but man, it felt good to be home.
The beauty of the American West was also striking. As I traveled to Southern Utah and I reaffirmed my belief that the most beautiful place in the world is the desert southwest. While some girls dreamed of their wedding day, I dreamed of having an art studio, red pickup truck tucked in the red mesas of the desert southwest. Being back among the hills I felt like I was right back in that dream.
However, despite the beauty and joy, there was intense sadness and sense of loss as well during my trip back to the states. There was an uneasiness as I returned the day before the midterm elections, an uneasiness as we have increasingly divided ourselves by politics rather than uniting as people. This feeling crystallized for me as I looked over the Mandalay Bay hotel in Las Vegas before flying home and the memory of the mass shooting there was enough to keep me from venturing out. On TV a mother pleaded for gun control after losing her son to a shooting in California, even though he had survived the shooting at Mandalay Bay.
And while the customs officer may have burst my bubble, as I boarded the plane to head back to my family that was waiting on a small island in the middle for the Adriatic ocean in a 400-year-old home, I had the sense a subtle yet profound shift has been taking place that I had not quite noticed. Like milk in coffee - once two separate things, the milk and coffee mix to become one. This year and my life are swirling into one in ways I had not noticed, never to be undone, yet leaving me entirely transformed.
