Two years away from American soil is a long time; long enough to spark a flurry of incongruous feelings when faced with an impending visit – nervous anticipation, excitement and of course the disruptive concern that the people and places I know and love have changed irrevocably, either because I’ve become too detached or because environment truly does alter perception.
Fortunately, my homecoming has been delightful, without too many heartbreaking changes and full of down time to indulge in some end-of-the-year woolgathering while lounging in front of the sparkling Christmas tree. I still haven’t figured out how to condense a roller-coaster year into one neatly polished synopsis or conclusion but I can say that I had to white-knuckle my way through it; asking myself uncomfortable life questions along the way all while attempting to pursue my goals and keep the online curtain drawn to the disorder.While the rewards were legion – from co-authoring my first book to contributing to the WSJ – they were punctuated by what I can only call an emotional pummeling. For more than half of 2014, I was convinced that something – an ineffable something – needed radical change. I was listless and pessimistic which only…
