“We've done the impossible and that makes us mighty.” -- Malcolm Reynolds

“For the past seven years I have done nothing but travel around the world getting shot up, locked up, blown up... and all I have to show for it are a couple of empty rolls of duct tape.” -- Angus MacGyver

I'm home. We've crossed the finish line, the run is over, the team has dispersed, and now I'm sitting in my living room.

In some ways, it's like I never left. When I climbed into my car for the first time after getting home, my Lyle Lovett CD fired up and the song I was listening to on my way to the airport on May 24th began to play. In other ways, it's like I'm trying on a life that belongs to someone else. While Mr. Lovett warbled away, I stalled my car three times before I made it out of my driveway.

I'm slowly stepping out of the Blue Planet world. Since coming home, I've run where I want, when I want. I've woken up in the morning and gone to bed at night. I've cooked a meal. I've gotten my hair cut, my teeth cleaned, my glasses adjusted. The Blue Planet schedule, the Blue Planet life, is receding into memory. The six hour shifts, the 16 countries, the long hours waiting for the next run are already starting to feel a little unreal. Sometimes, I wake up thinking I'm still in Russia. Other times, though, it seems like someone else ran around the world.

I spent the weekend emptying suitcases, washing clothes, putting stuff away, throwing junk out, and mailing Blue Planet Run T-shirts. I also spent the weekend remembering how to use my debit card, drive my stick-shift car, and set the security system. The back door has been re-keyed. Things aren't where I remember them. I'm a stranger in my car. I'm a stranger in my house. My life feels strange.

I like the way this strange old life fits, though. I've become reacquainted with my shoes. I haven't worn black shorts and a white top in a week. I've watched some really bad television. I've eaten some really terrible junk food. I've wallowed in normal-ness.

The fit isn't perfect; I'm not quite the same. You go away for a long time and return a different person – you never come all the way back. After years of restless, semi-insomnia, I sleep – the deep unconsciousness of childhood. After years of distraction, I focus – the phone and e-mail are noisy, but they aren't truly clamoring for my attention. I'm trying to live more consciously and less wastefully, to be more thoughtful and less self-absorbed, to eat more fruits and vegetables and kill fewer spiders. And so far, I've resisted making a list of things to do.

I'm glad, glad, glad to be home, but I don't want to come all the way back.