The journey back east has been an emotional roller coaster for me. As I inched closer and closer to Tennessee, I could feel a heaviness growing in my chest. I spent three days driving and crying through Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas before pulling into the driveway of the house that, until recently, I called home.

When I started my trek back I knew it was going to feel a little funky, but I never could have imagined the intensity of the funk. Dynamics had definitely changed since I left. My house was no longer my home, my friends were surely doing their own things and having a great time without me, my old job had been filled by someone new. It was a little hard not to feel replaced, even though this was the life I had chosen. I couldn’t help but experience a looming sadness as I left behind all of the extraordinary people I had met and fallen in love with out west. The long and lonely drive home only fueled my emotional state. Anxiety crept back in as I returned to a familiar place feeling a little unfamiliar with myself.

As all of these thoughts and feelings swirled around in my inventive imagination, I remembered something I had recently been practicing- sitting with my emotions, stresses, and anxieties rather than reacting to them. And how incredible it has been to be able to apply such a powerful practice to my daily life. So I made use of my long drive across the country and did just that. Being on the road so often truly allows me and my thoughts to get to know one another on a level I hadn’t before experienced.

Toward the last leg of my drive, I had a little chit chat with my tears. I finally understood. This was my first endeavor back into a world I’d basically just peaced out of without a second thought. When I left, I didn’t just bail on corporate life and a conventional home. I also buried my anxiety and depression somewhere deep in the Appalachian foothills. Going east didn’t exactly feel like going home at first. It felt more like intentionally driving back into a thick fog I had only recently managed to escape. I began to realize I was having apprehensions of a nice, long vacation approaching its conclusion. Did I have to unpack, settle in and return to a fluorescent lit office on Monday? No. “This isn’t vacation. This is your life,” I repeated over and over to myself.

So when you see me and ask me, “How was your trip?” I’ll proudly remind you that this isn’t a means to an end. Nothing is ending. This is still only the beginning.