🌀 The Crash After the Adventure: Returning to West Palm Beach After a Month Abroad

Well, I’m back in the 561 — West Palm Beach, Florida — after a month-long adventure across Southeast Asia and beyond. What I expected upon my return was a surge of excitement, a creative burst fueled by new experiences and insights. What I’m experiencing instead? A full-body crash. Mojo missing. Cold lingering. And a strange emotional fog I didn’t see coming.

Let’s start with the obvious: I’ve been fighting a nasty cold since I got back. I’m not pointing fingers, but let’s just say the guy I sat next to on the 9½-hour flight from Mumbai to Paris is officially on my suspect list. (Cough, cough.)

But the bigger story isn’t the cold — it’s the comedown. For 30 days, I woke up knowing there was something new to explore. A street food stall. A staircase that tested my knees. A visa hiccup that turned into a lesson in international bureaucracy (more on that in a separate post). Every day was layered with intel, insight, and the kind of sensory richness that makes you feel alive. Now? I’m back in familiar territory, and everything feels muted — or as the kids would say, “mid.” Do I even have that right?

This wasn’t slow travel in the traditional sense. It was a sample platter — fast-moving, multi-country, high-intensity. But the emotional impact? Still deep. I chose not to create content while traveling. I wanted to be present, to gather intel for GENeXpatLife — from eSIM hacks and Google Voice setups to the value of carrying two unlocked phones (and making sure they’re actually unlocked before you fly).

I’ve got stories. I’ve got systems. I’ve got reviews and recommendations. I’ve got insights and wisdom. I’ve got intel — the do’s and the don’ts. But right now, I’ve also got a kind of paralysis.

As a solo traveler, it’s just you and your stories. You’re the only one who savored the Michelin-star meals in Hanoi, or paused to take in the beauty of how Hoi An lights up at night. And while that’s part of the magic — the intimacy of solo travel — it also makes the return feel lonelier.

It’s worth looking into this more. Maybe it’s not just reverse culture shock. Maybe it’s the weight of carrying a month’s worth of memories alone.

While I appreciate those who’ve reached out since my return — especially those who took a vested interest in the adventure — I wonder if part of this fog is tied to the fact that it was a solo journey.

When you travel with a spouse or partner, you’ve got someone who lived it all with you. Someone who remembers the same staircase, the same street stall, the same visa hiccup. There’s a shared archive. A built-in witness.

I’ve lived through reverse culture shock before — after six months in England at 19, and again after 16 months in India. Those made sense. Full immersion. This trip was just a month. But the symptoms are familiar: disorientation, emotional flatness, a sense that “normal life” doesn’t quite fit anymore. It’s like I was many versions of myself abroad — adventurer, strategist, observer — and now I’m back to being just one. And that one feels... stuck.

I thought I’d dive into my notes, photos, and videos the moment I got home. I thought I’d be creating content, sharing value-driven travel insights, and mapping out the next act for GENeXpatLife. Instead, I’m staring at my laptop wondering where the mojo went.

Maybe it’s the cold. Maybe it’s the contrast. Maybe it’s something deeper — a kind of emotional jet lag that hits when you’ve lived many lives in a short span and then return to just one.

Whatever it is, I’m naming it. I’m sitting with it. And I’ll be unpacking it more in Part 2 — where I dive into the psychology of re-entry, the systems that can support it, and why even short-term travel can leave a lasting imprint.

For now, this is me — back in West Palm Beach, recovering, reflecting, and slowly finding my way back to the rhythm of creation.

#LetItRip #GENeXpatLife