Hidden Cafes and Alleyways

Lately I’ve been caught lingering in the morning haze. You know what it is. Between dreams and reality where you feel real comfort in where you believe you are in life and in the world. You wake up not yet remembering the passing of a loved one, not yet remembering the troubles of yesterday. You wake up thinking you’re in your own bed, when in fact you’re far away exploring the world.

I used to always wake up in Germany thinking I was in my small town cabin. And the morning haze would fade, and my heart would ache for the comfort of home, the familiarity of the culture I grew up in. Living abroad is something to never take for granted. It’s full of life-changing experiences, but as the morning haze fades, you long for home, even if it’s for a second.

And now, it’s the opposite.

I have dreams of murals in Russian street corners coming to life and dancing around me. I dream of surfing the day away in Australia, wave after shimmering wave. Last night I dreamt of visiting my favorite cafe in Paris, looking at the Notre Dame floating on an island painted with flowers.

And then I wake up in the haze, anticipation brushing against me as I think about starting the day, exploring the streets, immersing in this newfound culture, dancing with the murals. And I linger in that haze, sometimes swaying back into the dream. My chest swells with passion for the places I have never been, and I revel in it, as I lie in my warm cloud of blankets.

As I wander out of the haze, realization tickles my reality. I feel the weight of my softly snoring cocker spaniel on my feet. I see the familiar walls around me, keeping me safe in my little cabin. I hear the wind outside howling to get in. But I am safe here. Here I am refreshed, content, and sound. For a second, for just a half of a moment, I falter in the acceptance of the comfort around me.

I reach with the tendrils of my memory into the reflections of my dreams. While I lie in my bed of blankets, in the safest place in the world, I lean back into the haze only to find memories of a fleeting moment filled with feelings of impossible places.