On coming home

Post-sabbatical thoughts — August 15

It’s a weird feeling, being back. As Dad drove me home from the airport last night, he asked, “So how does it feel?” Turning down Argonne, he mused, “I sometimes find myself, looking around at people and thinking, ‘You have no idea where I’ve just been.’”

I nodded along — “For me, I start to do math — isn’t it wild that 12 hours ago I was in a different country?”

My home felt not quite my own — pristine clean thanks to being cleaned 2 days prior. But for some reason my countertops looked different than I remembered. This morning felt strange. Making my usual breakfast, but instead of going to open my laptop to work … I did nothing.

Well, I put on some clothes and went to Chrome Yellow, which is where I sit now.

But as I was driving over here — my eyes a little achey and head a little spacey — I felt very out-of-body. Just going through the motions of familiar turns, and at the same time, feeling like this wasn’t quite home.

Funnily enough (and I did laugh when I realized this), my friend Haley was seated at Chrome when I walked in. And to think I chose a coffee shop where I thought I might not see anyone.

Thoughts keep running through my head — the ones that come like I’m dictating to typist. “Write this down, McKenzie, remember it. Did you get that time where I sat at the fire talking to Nic about my sabbatical?”

Moments from the last few weeks pop up in short-reel snippets.

Sitting on the railing of Esther’s porch in Gimmelwald, feeling myself sink deep within myself.

Alex at 26 Grains in London telling me, “You should open a cafe of your own.”

The seagulls waking me up every morning in Cornwall.

Me saying to Pete at Creation Fest, “I’ve been thinking, ‘Who do I want to be at the end of my sabbatical?’” And him going, “That’s a very Gen Z question to ask.”

The canal volunteer stopping me to talk about all of Great Britain’s waterways and the need for more funding.

Biking alongside that old man along the Seine at 11:30 pm on the night of August 7 post- Olympics beach volleyball match. Him sticking his arms out while pedaling, like a little boy pretending to fly, and me laughing at the sight. That cat-and-mouse game of who is ahead of who, only to line up side by side at a stop light. Him asking me where I’m from, as if the temporary USA tattoo on my cheek wasn’t a dead giveaway. Then asking what was my favorite thing about Paris, and me saying, “This. Just biking in Paris. I love it.”

Sitting on a dock in Lausanne, microfiber towel semi-wrapped around my damp swimsuit, and William challenging me to ask God for a word for him. Closing my eyes, and breathing deep. Listening for a phrase, for a thought that’s not my own. “You are more than your works.”

Walking around Lake Geneva and William asking — “What kind of mom do you want to be for your kids?”

And being a little stunned at my own response — “I know I can be fun and bring out their imagination. But I hope I’m always able to be what they need in the moment. If they need a hug, that I’ll know to give them a hug. If they need me to challenge them, I’ll give them a nudge. I’ll be quiet when they need me to say nothing, to just listen. And when they need fun, I’ll make them giggle and think outside the box.”

Rain pouring outside of a Villar coffee shop while Martha and I talked boys.

Nic asking at L’Abri — “So what’s been the meat of your sabbatical?” I laughed and said, “Well, I thought this would be.” Him saying, “Yeah, I gave up on that.” Then asking, “Would you say you’re rested? Emotionally, physically, spiritually?” “Yes to emotional and spiritual. No to physical — I haven’t been sleeping well. That 5:30am sunrise can be a beast.”

Explaining to people my travel evolution, and why I love solo travel.

Landing in JFK airport, and almost saying Merci and Pardon to strangers.

Telling everyone about my sabbatical journal. About Dave’s question of bumping into Jesus, and what he would say.

Today? Today, he’d say, “McKenzie, you are home. Let yourself be home. Celebrate where you were, but do not long to be where you are not.”