I had a realization this weekend.
The last time I stepped foot on an airplane was January 3, 2012. I haven't traveled for work since that day either. The only place I've been is to Macon to see D., Corrie and the boys.
I believe I've just set a personal record for how long I've been at home since I've lived in Alabama.
And I don't mind it. Not one darn bit.
Traveling is glamorous. To a point. After a while, every hotel room looks the same and every meal tastes the same. The flight attendants know your name and the ticket agent becomes a personal friend.
I find it just as exciting to be able to make long-term plans for events with friends. To own my time and not be scared that I'll have to back out of a commitment.
Travel is fun. But home is better.
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