Past the mid-way point

I'm laying in bed in the home of my friend in California and pondering.

For the last hour, my friend Karla's "Chair and Microphone" album has been playing softly through my headphones.  Her music is the stuff I often turn to first in the moments when I need to think and pray and process life a bit.  My heart hears Jesus when she sings.

Sometime last night, or in the wee hours of this morning, drifting in and out of semi-restless sleep and dreams, I hit the realization that comes for me with every trip - the realization of being past the half-way point of this escape.  That the days remaining are growing fewer.  The realization that a return to the harder realities of day to day existence are coming, and soon.  That what comes next - the healing to come, the things to deal with, the waiting on school acceptance, the looking for a job, seem exhausting and overwhelming and sometimes even terrifying.

And really, I want to cocoon forever in the escape place (wherever it is, whichever vacation it is), full of laughter and hugs and friends who know all the messy stuff and want to hug on me and love me anyhow.  I think about the community around me at home and long for that place of openness to come.  I grow impatient with the reminder that there isn't history there yet, and that day to day life doesn't tend to hold room for the hours and hours of intense conversation that escapes have.

And so, I pause to consider the coming day, with Karla singing quietly in the background.  To ready my heart for the things it holds, but also to bask in it, to draw sweet memories and moments to hold to when the end of the escape comes and reality returns.  To have things to remind me of hope in the harder moments that are bound to come.  Because that was the point of escaping anyway - to get away from reality for a few days and rest and prepare for the coming of new realities.