Hey, friends! I'm home, and here is my awesome video from my Southeast Asia travels...

Backpacking through Asia was an adventure, one of the best things I’ve ever done, and also one of the most challenging. I spent two months with pretty much nothing but a backpack and a passport – no plan except to fly into Kuala Lumpur on the 17^th of June and eventually make my way up to Hanoi, Vietnam, by the 22^nd of August. I became a pro at haggling, navigating public transportation, saving money, making friends, going with the flow. I ate new foods – some that were delicious and some that left me bedridden-sick for days. I heard new languages and attempted to talk to locals with the few words I knew. I met people from all over the world. I experienced what it was like to be the minority. I had the time of my life, but after two months I was ready to get back to somewhere comfortable. A place where I knew the culture and the language and the food and the money.

What I didn’t realize was the reverse culture shock I’d experience when I got back to the States.

I fell in love with Australia in the year I was there, and whenever I was homesick throughout Asia, the place I ached for was Brisbane. From the day I arrived in that city, I felt like I belonged there – and even through all the ups and downs I experienced, there was never a day that it didn’t feel that way. I can’t put my finger on exactly what it was – the endless summer, the awesome people with awesome accents, the laidback attitude, the meat pies and Tim tams… it was all of that, and none of it because it was more. It was simply that feeling of home.

I think what made the culture shock the worst when I landed back in the States three weeks ago was that I didn’t expect it. I found Australia so similar to home. But it was different in all the little ways I wanted it to be. Australia was a little more laid back, the people a little more flexible and friendly, a little less self-involved. I got used to the small things – like Aussie dollars, driving on the left side of the road, reading temperature in Celsius, distance in kilometers, weight in kilograms. When I got back, these tiny differences seemed so much bigger than I expected. I had to convert back to the American ways – which maybe wouldn’t have been so hard if I wasn’t still constantly homesick for Brisbane.

I had a three-week route planned out to get me from the west coast to the east coast, and that plan changed a couple times – I added legs because I was dreading going home where my identity as a Traveler would be temporarily over, and then I skipped legs because I was so overwhelmed with being back. I hopped from San Francisco to Ashland, up to Seattle, over to Nashville and Raleigh, and last night I finally arrived back home in New Jersey.

I remember reading an article that had been circulating around my au pair friends who left Australia - The Hardest Part of Traveling No One Talks About. The hardest part about coming back is dealing with the changes within yourself. You’re the “new, shiny object” for a minute, and then everyone goes back to their lives and you’re left feeling lost. You’ve changed on a deeper level that isn’t visible on the surface, so no one sees it, but it makes you want to scream because it’s not something that will go away. It’s a difference in the way your mind works, and you experience it every second of every day. You want something more, you’ve caught what some call the “travel bug.” But what it really is, is a longing to go back to a place where you’re surrounded by likeminded people – people who know what it’s like to go places and grow and feel so incredibly lost when you return to the place you’re supposed to call home.

I dreaded all of this. I felt it from the moment I got back to the States. My friends and family were excited that I was back, and they wanted to hear about my travels, but it almost felt like most people were relieved it was over. Not many people have acknowledged the more permanent changes in me. Maybe they haven’t seen them, but they’re so apparent to me that it breaks my heart when the people I love can’t see it right away.

It sucks, but I expected to feel that way. What I didn’t expect is this bizarre feeling I’ve had since I walked in my front door last night. This feeling that the “pause” button was pressed while I was gone. The boxes I gathered of old clothes and dorm room décor are still sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor, exactly where I left them fifteen months ago. The old woman across the street is still sitting in the same lawn chair in the same spot next to her driveway as she was when I headed for the airport last June. The construction sites around my town haven’t made any progress. It felt like a lifetime since I’d been here, but driving through my town last night gave me an eerie feeling. Everything seems untouched. It makes me feel like the past year of my life was a dream that I’m waking up to and I’m in a panic to get back to it.

I’ve never felt more lost. This is the first time that I haven’t had a next step. I don’t know where I’m going or what I want, except for this wanderlust to stay with me. I hope that it will. I hope it guides me and gives me the same courage it has in the past – to go, explore, grow, and most of all, to not get stuck.

I hope to extend my travels in the near future. But until then… thank you all for following my adventures, for inspiring me and letting me inspire you in return!