Saturday Morning Travel Restlessness: When Home Feels Like a Waiting Room

Saturday morning hit different today. Woke up at my older sister's house, grabbed a coffee, and watched a squirrel tear around the yard like it had somewhere important to be. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here in Connecticut, nine days from my next adventure, feeling like I'm stuck in neutral.

The irony? I've got Portugal and Cambodia on the horizon—October 13th can't come fast enough. My little sister and I will tackle some coastal hiking in Portugal, then I'm heading solo to Cambodia for seven months of hostel work. Should be stoked, right? And I am. But there's this restless energy that comes with waiting, this listless feeling that settles in when you're between worlds.

The Strep Throat Plot Twist

This morning's coffee got cut short when word came down that one of my sister's kids had strep throat. Time to evacuate. Grabbed my stuff and rolled over to my other sister's place—she was out working, so I had the house to myself. More importantly, I had Rhea the puppy.

Those hikes with Rhea have become my zen moments here. Same loop every time: 20 minutes down to the boat launcher, 20 minutes back up. She chases squirrels and chipmunks with the kind of enthusiasm I wish I could muster for everyday tasks. It's simple, repetitive, and somehow exactly what I need.

But here's the thing—it's a band-aid, not a solution.

The Space Problem

Living in Vietnam and Thailand, I had my own space. Wasn't fancy, wasn't always comfortable, but it was mine. I could walk out my door and be in the thick of it—street food vendors, motorbike chaos, temples around every corner. Here in Connecticut, everything's spread out. I'm grateful for my family opening their homes, don't get me wrong. The love and support they've shown me is everything.

But I'm hungry for my own area again. A place where I can walk around, do my thing, enjoy life on my own timeline. As the temperature drops and winter approaches, that indoor time is only going to increase. More time inside someone else's space, more time feeling like a guest in my own hometown.

The Job Hunt Reality Check

I tried the conventional route. Sent out over 100 job applications while I've been here. Radio silence. Not even a "thanks but no thanks" email. It's disheartening, sure, but it also reinforced something I already knew—the traditional path isn't built for people like me.

So I kept moving forward my way. Published a book about my three months living on the Ringling Brothers train before they closed (you can find it on Amazon here—got a few sales). Picked up some outdoor landscaping work. Cranked out digital props for my buddy who works in movies. Odds and ends, side projects, the freelance hustle.

But I'm not getting ahead. I'm treading water.

The Heart vs. The Hunger

The hikes with Rhea fill the heart. Time with family fills the soul. Connecticut has given me what I needed in some ways—reconnection, grounding, a chance to reset. But there's this hunger underneath it all. A hunger for more, for something different, for that feeling of forward momentum that only comes when you're truly in motion.

Nine more days.

Then Portugal for coastal trails and sibling adventures. Then Cambodia for seven months of hostel life, new faces, new challenges, new stories. What lies ahead? No idea. That's kind of the point.

Dealing with the Waiting Game

Listlessness while waiting to travel—it's a specific kind of restlessness. You're not quite here, not quite there. Your body's in Connecticut taking Rhea on the same 40-minute loop, but your mind's already walking the Algarve coast or navigating Phnom Penh streets.

The trick is finding those zen moments wherever you can. For me, it's those dog walks. The routine, the simplicity, the fact that Rhea doesn't care about my travel plans or job applications—she just wants to chase squirrels.

But I also know that this feeling is temporary. In nine days, the restlessness transforms into motion. The waiting ends, and the next chapter begins.

What about you? How do you deal with that listless feeling when you're between adventures? When home starts to feel like a waiting room instead of a destination? Let me know in the comments—I'd love to hear how others navigate this space between worlds.