It’s 10am in Los Angeles. I’ve been back home a little over 24 hours and it’s still taking some getting used to. It’s the oddest feeling to be driving my own car. I love driving, I love the freedom and the speed. After a month of not moving faster than 50mph, and certainly never operating a vehicle, coasting along the 110 or the 5 freeways is a dizzying experience.

I have plenty of work to do and catch up on, but my apartment is incredibly distracting. I find myself flitting about with my things, picking them up, putting them back down, as if I’m making sure that they’re there, that they’re really real. Part of me feels comforted by all of it. By my pillows, my comforter, my pictures, my desk, everything that I own, that I’ve curated, that makes me who I am.

When I first got to Belize, I felt as though I was walking around in dream. This couldn’t really be real. These ants aren’t really biting me. This food can’t possibly be homemade, Miss Kim can’t possibly be taking me into her family like I was her own flesh and blood. This is too surreal.

Now, after a month, a mere month, so much happened and so many memories created. Clayton, a staff member from ProWorld, described it as being “embedded in the culture.” That phrase doesn’t quite do the experience justice. When you live in a place, you build relationships with the people and the environment. You create aspirations, you establish hopes and dreams. You discover the rhythm of the community and you find yourself stepping in time to that beat. Everything starts to flow. And then all of a sudden, you have to reset again.

The last year or so at Pepperdine has offered me a time to incubate and be intensely self-reflective. Only time will tell what all of this will mean. Eventually, I’ll have my “Aha! Moment,” and it will suddenly make sense.  For now, I’ll just have to continue enjoying my memories, treasuring them and hoping that I really will be able to go back, and maybe fall in love all over again.