The interaction that has stuck in my mind the most occurred when I was arriving in Chicago after my flight in from London. I was going across the border at O’Hare with my passport and declaration form in hand. I stepped to the counter and the agent took both from me and started his examination.
“Afghanistan? Are you in the military?” he asked.
“No, I’m a civilian contractor supporting the military.”
“Welcome home…”
I’ve been out of the country quite a few times now. From spending 20 days in Korea to 3 weeks in Europe, but no one has ever said welcome home to me when I came back. In all the transaction lasted less than 60 seconds but it stands as one of the most moving experiences I’ve had.
It’s been about a week since I stepped back onto US soil but those 60 seconds still resonate in my mind. The feeling is something akin to someone telling you that they love you and knowing that they really mean it. It sends a strange warmness through you, especially when it comes from a complete stranger. I feel like someone outside your circle actually does care.
I’m sure the chemical reaction that occurs in your brain when something like that happens really is like a drug. Suddenly there is this surge of dopamine that fills your brain with good feelings, minus that needles and physical addiction part of it. The closest comparison I can think of is the feeling of finishing a marathon.
It’s that rush you get when you see the finish line, hundreds of cheering people line the path to the end and suddenly there is this resurgence of energy where you’re able to push passed the pain. It’s the reason why I continue to run marathons, for that last 100 yards and it’s the reason why I want to go back out, for that welcome home.
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