When coming home from a trip, I’m wary of hovering negative thoughts looking for a place to lodge. The evil vapors arise in part from being back to regular life after a break, but more from fatigue, airplane air, and weird travel meals.
The stacks of “things needing doing” can overwhelm. Glance at the pile of mail, unstuff suitcases, and survey the fridge. Decide what I might do something about and what I must do something about.
My yoga teacher speaks of following one’s breath to the end, a tiny and beneficial act. This re-entry night, I tried to follow my exhalations, instead of following my frets. Slipping into my mind came the thought: “things will be better in the morning.”
My mother, in the face of derision about her predictability, said that of nearly any situation. I’ve come to appreciate the thought as an operating principle, and as a reminder of her ‑ and her generally optimistic nature.
Maybe comings and goings are part of making a home – the pleasure of going and joy of returning to home comforts. Best known by the efforts of our thoughtful house sitter who leaves fresh flowers and sheets and coffee beans, and everything just where it should be. Frances welcomes us, too, with her roll-over-like-an-Oreo-cookie greeting and her cat-self presence. She sits in an upright, self-contained way in a corner she favors (over a heat duct). Coming up the stairs you smile hello straight at her.
She favors sleeping with us, also for warmth. And I’m glad to bury my nose in the back of her head as I fall asleep, sure that everything, already good, will be even better in the morning.