I don’t mean just traveling to the same haunts, the same beach resort year after year. I mean returning to live in a place you’ve lived before, once you’ve lived away, once your life has changed. After living for a year and a half in Asia, I returned to the US, to the same location where I had lived before.
The question I have for myself is how the clash of the inner self and the external environment makes for a better or worse experience. Everything is the same, but everything is different. I see the same groundhogs feeding in an open field where I walked before, and am now walking again. But the field is now bordered by construction. I take the same metro into the city, though when I ride it, I feel more isolated than I did before. I’m not a tourist, but I’m not a local either. I’m an alien in mind and heart.