Coming home from a foreign country is a weird thing, man. You’re picked up by an airplane some 6,000 miles away, and by the time you wake up from a Nyquil coma everyone speaks your language and you can once again get a pumpkin spice latte off the Starbucks menu. Walking through customs at the Miami airport was akin to peeing in swimming pools as a child – comfortable, warm, a feeling of joy quite literally spreading around me. There were Christmas carols playing and decorated trees spotting the lobby, and hearing the words to “God Bless America” played over the loud speakers moved me to tears.
Home is a beautiful thing.
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