Another week, another business trip, and flying back yesterday (from a trip that, to be fair, had a pretty ideal ratio of business to pleasure: an hour and a half in a business meeting followed by a whole weekend with my beloved Seattle friends), I noticed how much I was looking forward to being home. Looking forward to it, that is, in spite of my (at best) ambivalent relationship with this town and this house. I wondered if this meant that people can adjust to anything, even ugly ranch houses in too-small red state towns, but I think it’s more that the pleasures of home—husband, cats, familiar comforts, and so on—outweigh geographic and architectural concerns. But it occurs to me that it wasn’t quite possible for me to feel that way a year ago, when I was just emerging from the depths of a severe depression and, equally important, when I was still stuck in a job I detested. Which I guess means that the business trips and the long hours are entirely worth it, if they keep me in the kind of upbeat frame of mind that allows me to appreciate the joys of home far more than I notice the petty irritations of the house and the city.
(And it is pretty churlish of me to complain about a business trip that gave me a free weekend in uncharacteristically sunny and warm Seattle, including one night in a really great hotel and one spent at Laura and Jim’s wonderful house. I love spending time with the Seattle people; it would be very hard not to be in a good mood around them. The other times I’ve been out there have been big group events, with lots of us out-of-towners visiting, and it was cool to see them in a more normal setting this time. They’re like a little extended family, and I feel totally at home with them.)
But I’d still like to go at least a few weeks without another business trip. Even if leaving town makes me appreciate home more, I’d still rather appreciate it from close up instead of far away.