The Adventurous Homebody

I am a paradox. Or, rather, an oxymoron. I love being at home. I love just sitting and doing nothing. It's not a lazy kind of sit-and-do-nothing, but rather an introverted kind. I like to think and write and watch the world as it passes by, learning things as I watch.

But then I think that world that's passing looks really fun, so I do things like travel to London with people I've never met, try out to be the school mascot, run for class office, and move to Boston (not always in that order). And then I suffer for it. Sure, it looks like it's fun while it's passing, but it turns out that once you're in it, it's not all fun and games. Sometimes, the crazy (by my standards) things I've done have been the hardest things I have ever done. Right now, with the whole living in Boston thing, I am so far outside my comfort zone that I can't even remember what it's like to be in it anymore. That's an exaggeration. I do remember what it's like, and when I remember it I miss home and start crying. I guess I try not to remember what it's like. 

It's not as though anyone is forcing me to do anything - my parents never demanded that I get involved in my high school or study abroad. No one told me to get straight As. They definitely didn't tell me to go to Boston. All these things were my idea. Why do I do this to myself? 

I guess I know why. It's because the things that are hardest usually turn out to be the most rewarding. Usually. But sometimes I wonder if the price of uncomfortableness outweighs the reward. Everyone will always tell me that it does, but that doesn't stop me from wondering.