I have three weeks left here in Australia. In three weeks, I will be back home, in my room, with my cat (as soon as she forgives me and graces me with her presence), in Flagstaff, AZ, in close proximity to my dear friends and family. The thought "home stretch" occurred to me today. I've been thinking about that term in all of its possible meanings. Not just as a symbolic reference to the last leg of a journey, but also as a yearning for home and an irrational desire to be both here and there.
Over the last week or two, I slowly realized just how homesick I really am. It was so subliminal that I had to have it pointed out to me. And everything made sense. And I could deal with the emotions and move one. Or try to (who's kidding who, really?). In an effort not to wax poetic, I'll just say that sometimes being too self-reliant or resistant to opening one's shell is highly overrated.
Three weeks from now, I will no longer be able to view the expanse of the Northern Rivers, see Mount Warning on a clear day, or spend a day at Byron Bay. In three weeks I won't be able to walk down the hill and watch the bats fuss in the trees or hear the nearby kookaburra make its call as twilight descends. Australia will once again be halfway across the world, perceived as that great island somewhere down south. And yet it's not just any random continent. It's a wonderful place filled with wonderful people. Where else in the world can you see koalas on campus? So while I'm here in the home stretch, the key is not to stretch for home too quickly. After all, we've still got one and a quarter bottles of Sriracha to finish.