Returning home from a holiday is ideally a matter of mixed attraction. That is, on the one hand, sorrow to abandon what has hopefully been an uplifting vacation; and on the other hand, solace to recapture familiar habits and territory. Assuming that being spoiled with service (meals, drinks, entertainment and tours) characterized much of the holiday, going home provokes more personal involvement in day-to-day carriage.  Although the detraction from such fleeting attention is a moderate deprivation, there is nonetheless advantage to regaining one’s own bearings to satisfy daily wants and necessities.

There are some who take a sharp and rather dim view of travel. I have heard it said for example that, “There ain’t no ship to take you away from yourself; you travel the suburbs of your own mind”. This construction of travel clearly defeats the many more positive traits of exploration. It does however paradoxically inspire the benefit of going home. Getting in step with one’s accustomed marching orders is strangely satisfying. There is an element of human nature not unlike that of other creatures; namely, the gratification deriving from repetition and predictable consequence.

Going home commonly encourages at least moderate reflection upon and recollection of what has lately transpired during the holiday. If these memories render a smile upon one’s face then it is reasonable to assume the experience was both valuable and worthy. Yet there normally persists the often indescribable satisfaction inherent upon going home. The prospect wrestles to the ground any sense of misplacement which may have attended the previous involvement in foreign space. As gratifying as travel can be, there is often the feeling of abstraction and removal from the direct insinuation peculiar to being at home.

Travel is in some respects like any other commodity; that is, it is part of retail commerce, designed to indulge a particular bent or desire. And like the enjoyment of any new thing, there comes a time when the immersion is complete. The blunt truth is that we eventually go home; we return to a less particularized existence, one which melds with the overall being.