A Tourist at Home

We often feel like explorers when we move to a new area; everything is new and there's so much to learn. Mundane activities are the source for adventures: Where is the dry cleaner? Which shop is cheapest? How late is the library open?

Once we find answers to the crucial questions, our curiosity fades, life moves forward, and we gain a sense of community. The walk to the corner shop is automatic. Smiles become familiar, and even the neighborhood dogs have names.

One day there is a realization: this is Home.

With that awareness comes relaxation . . . and neglect. There are fewer and fewer discoveries, no expeditions to new places, no expeditions to gain new experiences. The area once foreign has become ordinary.

But wondrous things are still all around us. The instinct to investigate is lost as we are linked with our home, the surroundings internalized. It could be years before an out-of-town visitor gives us the excuse to go on a tour, before we rediscover where we live.

What if we take some time now to look at the place we call Home? Let's marvel at the architectural detail on the buildings down the street, notice the trees in the park, walk in a different direction than usual. We can ask the questions we asked when we first arrived, whether it was two days or two decades ago.

In fact, let's all be tourists in our own towns. At last we should take the trip to a nearby museum or historic site; we shouldn't wait to see the things that are always there. Let's open our eyes to the wonder surrounding us.

When was the last time we really looked?

Tricia Gilbert
Associate Editor