The beauty of jet lag:

Lyon market

For the days after your trip, you feel no guilt about napping or going to bed early, or both—not that you should feel guilty anyway about the sleep that you need.

You wake up early, and think maybe I’ll become one of those people who gets up early and gets things done.  For a few days you will.  Then the night owl creeps back and you’re crawling in bed at 11 again and rolling out at 9 and wondering what happened.  

But those first few days, you get shit done.  Your travel laundry.  Not that you had much, because you finally realized that less is more with your wardrobe, and Europe You doesn't need all these clothes.   Getting dressed was easier.   And now Europe You wears scarves.   You put away your suitcase and those adapters, hopefully somewhere you can find them for next time.  You don’t want to need another 3 pack from Amazon, and you do want a next time.

Maybe next time your country won't be reviled by the people you meet. Maybe there won't be protestors outside the US embassies. You will still say "Minnesota" when they ask where you're from--but maybe next time they won't ask the follow up: "How are things there now?" with the knowing look that things are not fine, or have not been.

Your fridge is blissfully devoid of guilt-inducing produce, because you tossed it all before you left.  Never mind that normally you have apples and carrots in there for months and think nothing of it.  You think maybe I’ll become the person who shops for fresh bread and today’s meals every day, just like in France.

You won’t, because we are not set up for that in most of the US.  Even your CSA comes once a week and you struggle with the abundance before it rots or the next box arrives, or worse, both.   You won’t walk to the bakery for baguette and croissant every day, because if there is a bakery that carries both, it’s not walking distance from your house.  And who knows what is actually in the baked goods near you, because it’s not French butter and eggs.  And a croissant with coffee will be $10 instead of 3 €. (In my mind the exchange is 1:1.)    You’ll never know if the produce is local or in season, unless you use even more gas to go to the co-op.  

Remember when you walked so many steps each day, and it didn’t feel like a chore?  It was just a part of your trip, being in the neighborhood and using your feet and mass transit that works.  Just like the locals.  Did your hips hurt there?  Mine didn’t until the plane ride home...

Maybe this time you will organize your photos—too many of them.  Delete the duplicates and lousy ones—blurry, eyes closed, weird expressions.   Probably not.  I always think I’m going to label them from my travel diary, but once I’m home, I can’t remember if this Picasso is from the Tate, L’Orangerie, or the Picasso museum. 

Picasso museum. And an example of a subpar attempt to capture a painting with a photo...

Does it matter?  Why do I try to photograph paintings anyway?  Why do people spend their time posing in front of the water lilies instead of immersing themselves?  I’m pretty sure Monet wasn’t thinking of Instagram likes in his eighties and nearly blind.

In the end, you won’t be the early bird or the daily shopper and walker, not unless you live somewhere conducive to this.  Your ways won’t change, but you will be changed.  You will remember the paintings, the odd translations, the way it felt.  And you will look forward to next time.