Once upon a time, I enjoyed traveling. I used to plan trips to Europe that I’d never take or spend time hunting down cheap flights that I’d never book. I loved being on the road, being somewhere new.

Then I spent two years consulting with IBM.

I’ve written about it before: four flights a week, fifty weeks a year for two years. A different hotel room every week, a different rental car every week. Single serving friends every week. IBM killed travel for me. Maybe I just spent too much time in airports, fighting or fretting over delayed flights and missed connections, but now the thought of travel makes my skin crawl.

Every time I get on a plane (even if its for a fun, Phillies-filled weekend with Sara – like this past one, which deserves a separate entry), I’m reminded of those two miserable years. I try to remember what it was like when I enjoyed going places, but it hasn’t yet come back to me. I’m sure I’ll feel the itch again some day, but for now, all I want to do is be home.