It’s the holy grail at the end of my weary journey. My day begins at 4:00am in a dark apartment with a tuxedo cat winding between my ankles, and finishes on the second floor in front of a cheap wood door with the numbers “22” emblazoned upon it at 6:00pm. By the time I alight on that final stair, my body aches, my mind is mush, and my soul is heavy. The invisible burden I carry on my sore shoulders causes my feet to sink hard into the ground as I tumble inside the door. Every step is a struggle.
These woes are all too familiar to us well-meaning workaholics of Generation Y, the ones who started young with dreams and who have grown old and jaded beyond our years. Those like me know strain of making enough money to survive, but with little time for socializing. They relish to know the luxury of being able to stop and take a deep breath – just one, glorious deep breath. Not everyone knows this feeling of being slowly turned inside-out until the only thing you can hope to do is fall into the welcoming arms of your bed… but those of you who know this soul-dimming burnout understand that home must be a safe, happy place.
For when we weary hollows stumble through our front doors, we begin peeling off the layers. Our shoes are torn off and we wriggle our toes, remembering distantly the joy of stretching our legs and running barefoot on the beach. It seems impossible that vacation was only three months ago…. Then we strip off the dirt and grime, the paper dust and silent hours. We cuddle into our favorite corner and wrap ourselves in our most comfortable pajamas and hoodies – even if it’s only 6:00pm and the night is young. We tired souls do this, because these small comforts remind us of why we do what we do. It lets us rest our aching bones, stretch our cramped muscles, and disappear into the soft cloud of hope, relief, and rejuvenation.
And, just for a little while… we can forget.
“Describe any wardrobe changes you make when you get home from work, school, or your other day activities.” – Plinky Prompt, Jan. 21, 2009