Home is the place I go back to, the place I sleep and eat, where I spend most of my time, a place I feel comfortable, a place I feel I belong.
I think about it a lot, especially when I come back to the U.K..
When I think about why I’m coming back, what I’m going to do, where I’m going to stay, who I (need/want/am going) to see.
It complicates it in ways that still makes me feel the anxiety rising.
This time I came back because there were people and things I missed living abroad.
I suppose it is significant the people I have seen and those I didn’t get around to seeing.
The people who can make me feel like I’m home, the places I can say the same.
Jealousy is easy. You can be jealous of everyone!
Look at that person in a fancy car that you don’t really care about! It’s expensive! I bet it makes them so much happier then you are right now!
Look at that person in the shop buying stuff that you neither want, nor need! I bet it they feel a kind of pure joy that is unobtainable without spending money!
Look at that person in First Class! They will know happiness for the next 10 hours that you will never know, stuck back there in the economy seats as you head across the world on holiday.
Look at that couple! Don’t they look so happy. They are probably happy all the time. Don’t they look so perfect!
Look at that guy in that shop, working there would be simpler? Sure it might be a bit monotonous but you wouldn’t have half as much stress. Wouldn’t need to take work home either!
Look at them. They must earn less then you, they must be nice. Who needs stuff anyway? Clothes or fancy food, you don’t really. I think it must be great being them.
I didn’t think it would happen. It did. It’s a week in but I can feel the stresses and strains fade.