I can't help but feel defeated in my going back early, of course. It seems that my priorities and interests changed once I got here. My life was so humdrum, mundane in Texas and Jersey. I dreamed of losing myself, the exotic. Putting myself in harm's way. So that I might return to the Garden State with a broader perspective, the idea that my life is not all humdrum, that it hasn't always been this way.
But when I get here, things are not so safe and humdrum anymore, and I have no appetite for anything dangerous. Instead I feel like I should be working, or with the people I care about. Not these strangers who I'll never see again. Which happens on all of my solo trips, really. Wyoming, Alaska, Costa Rica, Panama. Anytime I have no connections, no real friends, I want to go home. I get a taste of the exotic, and that is enough. The momentum runs dry much sooner than I had imagined.
I think part of it is the aesthetic involved. I am not a hippy, and I feel no affinity with this culture, these people. I can't work down here--too distracting, too public. And for whatever reason I do not like to party. I am tired at night. I like to relax at night. I don't feel like talking to people when I am tired.
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