Being home was great. It felt so . . . . normal. Things I’d remembered about America had started to seem fantastic and exaggerated. But it turns out that they weren’t. Things that are neutral when you’ve been home for a while suddenly stand out. People were really as nice as I’d remembered, customer service was spectacular, there are trees with truly red leaves, even in summer and trees with truly blue needles, young men really don’t ogle as much, women wear shoes that look much more practical. Dogs are different. Kids are the same. And I am the same, too, but I had the luxury of understanding and being understood. My family is as funny and loving as I’d imagined. But I'm afraid that's all you'll hear for now, since I've found it very hard to write about My Life when I'm home.