After sleeping in hotel beds and airplane seats for 23 days, I am back in San Francisco. I can’t really call San Francisco “home” because it doesn’t have that comfortable feeling. Instead, I choose to call it my “home base.” I much prefer the road to home — don’t ask me why, it is just that I do. At times, it feels like I am addicted to the narcotic effects of the jet lag, sliding through life in-between timezones, fast forwarding or going back in time. I love waking up at 3 am and endless wandering the streets of places just a degree or two stranger than my current home base. Life and work will resume tomorrow. For now, I am glad to be sleeping in my own bed, comfortable in its familiarity.