My Purpose is Toast: The First 24 Hours Back Home and Reverse Culture Shock

When I got off of the plane in the United States, I hadn't realized how cold it was going to be in Chicago. To this day, well over a month into my return home, I still can't get over how cold it is. I can usually be found around my house, socks tucked into pants and whatever fuzzy jacket I have on hand zipped up to my chin. My dog becomes a mini space heater when she slips into my bed for the night, and it's difficult to leave my blankets in the morning, just to be greeted by a draft that curses my bedroom from the months of November to March.

But my apologies for going on a tangent. This isn't about my room's poor insulation or my body's inability to circulate my blood efficiently. Let's get back to Chicago.

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Aside from my poor choice of thin joggers for pants, everything else about landing back in the US was great. Those first hugs for my parents were probably some of the best I've ever experienced, and with the exception of almost ordering my french toast in Japanese at a restaurant stop, I managed to stave off my exhaustion and disbelief until I got home, where it was replaced by a different issue.

After I had awoken my brother from a nap to say hello (despite having not seen me in four months, he asked for another five minutes), and getting my suitcases in, my parents returned to their duties for the day. After all, there was work, school, and all the other commitments of life that were awaiting my family. I stared at my luggage, then at my pet dog Sadie, then back at my luggage. What was I supposed to do now?

So much of the last four months had been dependent on looking forward to things: flying to Japan, starting new classes, visiting new places, making new friends, flying back home. Now that it was all done, what was next? What was my purpose?

Feeling out of place in my own home (weirdest feeling ever), I decided to consult the person who I was sure would know what I should do next: Mom.

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"Hey, Mom?"

"Yes, Georgia?"

"What should I do now?"

"...what do you mean?"

"I don't know, like... what should I do?"

"Well, it would be nice if you could unpack your luggage. But if that feels like too much right now, I'd say you can just relax for a bit, maybe take a nap with Sadie."

Cue the nervous laughter. 

How could I relax? I had just been in another country for the last four months and I was supposed to lay down in my bed, maybe pop in a movie, and just be normal? It felt wrong just to return to the normal flow of life, and it felt as if there was something blocking my brain from making decisions. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, and I could sense my mom's concern for my sanity growing by the minute. 

Realizing that I couldn't really process dropping right back into my normal life, I went back to the basics. If it felt wrong to relax and rest, then I needed to find something to do. I wracked my brain thinking about what I could do to be productive, when a small noise from my stomach stopped me. 

I put my quest for productivity on hold to take care of my hunger. Deciding on some toast, my entire being finally became fixated on the breakfast item. My very existence in that moment was for nothing more than toast.

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Even if I couldn't make a plan for what to do with my time at home, or even what the rest of my day would look like, I could make toast. In a haze of jet-lag, shock, and other emotions that plagued me, that piece of toast became a tiny crumbly anchor of sorts. I felt so weird, having suddenly gone from one side of the world to the other, and I worried in the back of my mind that I wouldn't be able to shake this strange reverse culture shock I was experiencing. I had been prepared for feeling out of sorts in Japan, but nobody prepares you for when your own kitchen feels like a foreign land, even though you know exactly where the toaster and Smuckers Simply Fruit Strawberry Jam are located.

But by focusing on those small, minute actions, I was able to ground myself mentally and take care of my self physically. 

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After eating a piece of toast, my purpose became to take a shower. After that, it was to find a comfy set of clothing. After that? Unpacking my bags. This continued on and on until I found myself in bed, puppy by my side, and ready to face the first night of jet-lag. When I woke up the next day, I still felt strange, but it seemed more manageable. And you know what? Those icky feelings of weirdness that I feared would plague me for the rest of my life? They slowly but surely faded away.

I don't know how great of a message this story has. It might be more of an insight to my messy brain, as I'm not sure how often breakfast items can be applied as a solution to a toiling and tired mind. But when you find yourself tilted off your axis with no end in sight, sometimes making a piece of toast is the first step you can taking to finding your way back to center.