Day 27: Not Home Sick but Sick of Not Having a Home

I was so exhausted—and the bed at Salishan Lodge so deeply comfortable—that I slept in for the first time in years. Really, it was more of a drifting in and out of dreams from 6 a.m. until I finally rose at 10 a.m..

This morning, I remembered to call home and check on “Henry”, my plant. With the heat wave stretching from the Pacific Northwest all the way down to Southern California, I worried he might have wilted, yellowed, or worse. I had unlocked my door remotely for my neighbor, and when she went in, she told me my neighbor across the hall joined her.

I laughed to myself—how did I not see this coming? Being a deeply private person (oddly, with a very public travel blog), the idea of people wandering around my apartment unsettled me. I joked with them: “Stop snooping around my place!” In truth, I was grateful. Henry was doing fine, and they’d watered the rest of my plants too. I even asked her to take my air plant home—it needed more care instructions that I didn’t have time to go over in details at the time.

It was nice to talk to people from home again. For a moment, I felt the tug of return. For weeks I’ve asked myself whether I even want to go back—knowing I need to, but not certain I want to. Life on the road has been so free: no chores, no errands, just living in the moment. I haven’t known that kind of lightness in years.

Before I knew it, the clock struck noon and I was still enjoying the quiet of my room. I finally ventured out around three, taking Ashley on a slow tour of the resort grounds. Later, we headed to Lincoln City, back to the wide beach I’d noticed the other day—the one with the dramatic rock formations standing in the water.

By evening, we returned to the Lodge. I picked up dinner to-go from the café and spent the night in simple comforts: watching TV, checking the REI sale one more time (yes, I ordered a few more items—delivery to the store won’t be ready until Friday, so maybe I’ll linger a little longer on the coast).

As I searched for a hotel for tomorrow, I felt the tension of last-minute planning creep in. It’s nerve-racking at times. But this journey has been a practice in learning to sit with discomfort—to challenge my instinct to control everything. I’m slowly finding peace in letting the road unfold.