The post-visitor blues

I realized when I was in Boston that I always had a letdown slump after visiting friends left. There is something so comforting about the familiar people, and I reeled after each visit ended. Eventually I got to the point to plan an activity or invite myself over to Hannah's after each guest set left.

I had a slight feeling that would happen to me in Europe as well. Saying goodbye to three college friends after 10 days together through Europe was fine at first. I went to work to clear my pile of emails as well as keep my brain occupied. And today is Saturday. I spent the morning cleaning and organizing the house, washing the sheets, catching up on laundry, and talking to dear friends abroad. And invited new friends to explore the local jazz music festival with me tonight.

But now I ride the tram back, and the isolation hits hard once again. It's a gorgeous night, begging for conversation and ice cream and to be outside. But no one I know is in town, and the few who are can't come at this hour as the trains won't run to take them home anymore. I miss the nights of chattering with my friends, as we walked the cobblestone streets and navigated foreign busses together.

This is the reality of living abroad. Not hearing a word of English in the cacophony of languages on this tram. Even the music I hear is in Spanish. Not having the freedom to take myself anywhere but bound to public transit schedules. Not having the community to invite myself over or invite to my house at this hour.

There are glamorous parts. Travelling Europe, seeing the history and culture it affords is a privilege I don't take lightly.

But many days the realistic parts win out. Trying to wrangle the drying rack and see how it opens. Making sure the sheets hanging off said rack don't touch the floor. Sweltering in the summer heat, sans A/C praying for a cross breeze. Struggling to drag furniture across the apartment to Its final resting place. Not being able to comfort myself with a grocery shopping trip, because I don’t have a car or large enough fridge, and the shops are closed anyhow. Crying alone on the tram now. Running to grab the next bus so I don't sit alone at the stop for another 9 minutes.

And of course, it always rains when I'm feeling down, so now the cold raindrops are pricking my bare shoulders, adding to the heaviness of this night.

I've been abroad 5 months now. Life is really good and full. But that doesn't mean it's perfect or easy. It's my life, to soldier on. Some days filled with roses, and some days with thorns.