Whenever I go back to Sydney, it takes me a little while to readjust. Lockout laws, Sydney traffic, train trips and the most easygoing (and slow-walking) people around... Earlier bedtimes (jet lag doesn't help), long days at the beach, finding out how unfit I am; exhausted from "doing nothing" and, worst of all, constantly accused of developing the dreaded "American accent" (although, funnily enough, never by close family or friends... apparently I've always had my "own way of talking." I chalk it up to being a citizen of the world).
Worldly citizenship aside, I will always be first and foremost an Aussie, and it isn't just my Grandad, clasping my hands and staring imploringly into my eyes, telling me that I am "Australian first, never forget it" that reminds me of this (patriotic bunch, us Aussies!).
I get back in the bush. I start running again. I readjust to days spent in the sun and nights in with family. I walk more slowly, say thank you and sorry constantly, drink alllll the coffee and EAT EVERYTHING. I spend time in nature and soak my worries away in salt water. And I get the itch to travel, stronger than ever, the urge to see as much as possible of the wide brown land that I can... I road trip and state hop and it's still never enough. One month or three, it flies by and I find myself wishing I had more time.
But the day inevitably comes when I'm packed and ready to fly out, and part of me wonders "what the hell am I doing? Why would I ever leave?" as I kiss my family goodbye and make my way back to the States, with nothing left but a light tan and a bunch of photos to carry me over until the next time.
But there will always be a next time, and for that, I am eternally grateful. <3