Now I know why they invented honeymoons.  Jet lag, laundry and overdo emails aside, I am back home feeling so good, so nourished, it almost doesn’t seem fair.

I keep reliving moments, (mostly food related, but not all!) and remembering some of the incredible scenes of the last 3 weeks.  It did my soul good to see friends in New York and Geneva, and to make new ones in France and Italy.  And it was nice to get out of my routines and rhythms, and force myself to adapt to new, sometimes better ones.

This last year has been a kind of line in the sand, between working and not working, being single and being married.  And this trip, besides celebrating those changes, gave me a chance to look at my life and myself and see just what has changed, and what has stayed the same.

I am calmer than I used to be, and am finding how nice it can be not to try and be in control every second, but to let things happen around me.   I am more appreciative of the people I love, and the ones who love me.  And I treasure little everyday pleasures more– an unexpected waterfall roaring down a craggy Alpen mountainside, a full moon rising above New York skyscrapers, a game of darts in a Geneva pub.

And yet, I am seeing that I am still  the overly sensitive, slightly sappy, eternal optimist that I ever was. In my enthusiasm for life, I still make mistakes (and I have made some really, really dumb ones).  But I carry on, still believing that life is meant to be happy, and to be enjoyed.  I still get a thrill from a challenge, and still have to-do lists that now include things like: see Alaska, lose weight (that has never not been on one of my to-do lists), do yoga more seriously, floss, learn Italian, write a novel.  I am still, as my former husband used to say, the one and only daughter of Don and Rainy Boyle and as such, still believe I have the best family that has ever been (only now it is twice as big!).  I firmly believe that my life is getting better.  And, more than ever, I believe in love.

So, yes, I have switched the Beaufort fromage for Tillamook Cheddar, room service for my own blueberry smoothies, the Alps for the Wasatch mountains, and daily discoveries for the comfortable familiarity of home.

But I feel peaceful and grateful and poised for what I am sure will be the best years of my life.

The medieval town of San Giulio sits on a lake at the foot of the the Italian Alps, not far from Lake Como (alas, George Clooney was nowhere to be seen.)  Even in the pouring rain, as we made the last winding turn through the mountains, the sight of the little town took our breath away.  Jutting out onto the lake, San Giulio is essentially a tiny peninsula with beautiful old villas, a town square, frighteningly narrow cobblestone streets, a harbor for fishing and motor boats and a gelateria every 20 yards or so.

While our hotel was forgettable, the view from our room was not.  We looked out onto the lake and an isoletta that houses a Benedictine Monastery and a few dozen amazing villas, against a backdrop of terraced mountains rising out of the mist.  Lit up at night, it is a combination of Camelot and Disneyland.  Hotels and palazzos rim the lake and although we were the only tourists we saw in the two days we were there, we could imagine it to be a wonderful place to escape to during summer.

I guess if I had the kind of money George does, I would have a little villa here too.

Throughout this trip, we have been constantly surprised by some of the treasures we have literally stumbled upon.  One of them is a little restaurant we found as we were walking around town in the afternoon.  It looked like a local bar or gelateria with a just few tables in front, but it was the only place that seemed open, so we made reservations for dinner.   When we went back that evening, they led us to our table, past the front of the restaurant, up a few stairs to a candle lit, 17th century stone room in back, with white leather chairs, linen table cloths and beautiful, ultra modern, white fabric sconces.  It was so cool and chic, and they were so sweet to us. My lamb chops were roasted simply and perfectly, and my husband is still talking about the grappa.

The next day was something of an adventure.  We left San Giulio around 10 in the morning and spent the next 7 hours driving through the Alps in the pouring rain (praying it wouldn’t switch over to snow), to Geneva.  We drove along winding roads and motorways, by villages where Heidi might have lived, past waterfalls, over rivers, through countless tunnels, some of which were up to 7 miles long, and basically through Mount Blanc.   It was beautiful.

But between the weather, the trucks, the curves and the steepness of the grades, I was pretty glad to see Geneva.  And I wasn’t even the one doing the driving.

Here, we are enjoying a wonderful room, this time overlooking Lake Geneva.  It is a perfect place to rest, pack and prepare for our re-entry into reality.

Since coming to Europe, I have become increasingly disconnected from my world as I know it.  Forget  details such as not understanding the languages spoken around me, or the fact that I am a foreigner with a map in one hand and a friend’s GPS in the other and am still lost.

My cell has not worked in a week.  I left my reading glasses in France and have been squinting my way through Italy.  And now there is no wi-fi in our hotel so I am writing this post on the hotel computer in the bar.  We had not even looked at tv in a week until last night.

I have felt weirdly out of touch with everyone and everything familiar.  I’ve wanted to make phone calls, take pictures, check the weather, check emails, check headlines, and been frustrated at every turn.

Then I flipped on the BBC news last night when we finally had a tv again, and saw the unbelievable pictures coming in from Japan.  As we pieced together what had happened, the impact of it all began to dawn on me.  Having grown up in earthquake country, I have some sense of the immediate terror and uncertainty of the people who felt the earthquake.  But the magnitude of the destruction, the loss of life and the shock of the quake and the absolutely awesome tsunami is beyond anything I can comprehend.

I may need to shorten my posts, struggle with emails for another week, and forgo some nice vacation pictures.  But I put that in perspective with what a real disruption an entire country is going through, and will need to deal with for months and years to come, and suddenly the funny, quirky, whiney little post I had planned to write this afternoon feels totally inappropriate.

Right now, my thoughts are instead about the people in Japan whose lives truly and literally are turned upside down.  My world feels pretty darn blessed.

Yesterday, flying back to Utah, the man next to me on the flight asked me if I had trouble keeping busy now that I am not working.  It is the most frequently asked question I get these days.  It is funny, but I never run out of things that need doing in a day.  The bigger question that I am asking myself lately, however, is what is my purpose now?

I really enjoy not needing to spring out of bed by 5:45 each morning and actually lolling around until 6:20 or even 6:30 some days.  I  love taking my time drinking my tea, reading the paper and getting ready to exercise.  And I love going for a walk or to the gym without having to race right back to get dressed and go to work.  The rest of the morning is equally delightful, catching up on the news or the Today show, and unhurriedly getting showered and dressed.  It is a real luxury–and after 36 years of having to run out the door at an appointed hour, I do not take these leisurely mornings for granted.

It seems like I have had so many projects, too, like moving from New York, moving into Park City, writing, reading, painting, cooking, and, oh yeah, getting married.  Staying busy is not an issue.

What does nag at me occasionally is, what am I doing that is critical?  Yes, it was only advertising, which always ranks just below selling used cars, drug dealing and law on the list of admirable professions.  But it was also problem solving, and creative thinking and ideas.

Ideas rock.

So what am I doing now that challenges me to come up with ideas that make the world better, or smarter, or more colorful or kinder?  What am I doing that is urgent or important, even in a small way? How much longer will I be content with days that feel like Saturday after Saturday?

Next week I am beginning a trek to New York and then Europe.  It is partly a honeymoon, but partly a chance to reignite my brain.  As I come out of hibernation, I am hoping to find something in the world that calls to me, be it an old villa that needs refurbishing, or a vineyard that needs tending, or maybe, just maybe, a book that needs writing.  I don’t know.

But I think it is time to push the limits a little bit on what life after advertising can mean.

Even if it means setting the alarm for 5:45.

Witnessing a revolution up close has been riveting this past week.  I try to turn away from the coverage, but it captures the imagination in a way that stories rarely do.  There are so many factions and points of view, I won’t begin to discuss the politics of it, (nor could I, with any credibility) but the drama of it is extraordinary.

I remember when I was a senior in high school and we attended peace rallies against the Viet Nam War. Joan Baez lived in our town, and she would come and sing and speak, and we all felt we were affecting change.  Even my father took part in a peace march in Washington DC. He was the most un-radical of radicals, and a pillar of what we then called “the establishment.” But he had a son fighting in Viet Nam and truly believed  it was time to bring the troops home, so he simply exercised his right to free speech by attending a peaceful protest.

Of course, we never considered that what we were doing could be dangerous.  Yes, there were pockets of deplorable violence, like at Kent State.  But, my generation grew up comforted in the belief that we had the right to voice our opinions safely, and by and large, we could.

In contrast, what is unfolding before our eyes in Egypt is incredible.  The violence is hard to comprehend, as I find myself watching horses and camels stampede a crowd.  And the swiftness with which the uprising is spreading, in this new online world with instant connections, is equally awesome. How quickly our whole world can change– faster than we can even comprehend.

And I wonder about the people who are demonstrating.  Who are they?  What are their frustrations, hopes and fears?  What drives them to come to protest knowing how dangerous it could be?  My heart goes out to them.  I think of the men I saw when I was in Cairo– they were in every shop, on every street, sitting at small tables, endlessly drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, watching passersby and talking.  Where are they now?  Are they the ones demonstrating?  Were they talking about the revolution then?  Or are they as surprised as we all are at this avalanche of change?

I wonder about these people.  Surely, they are fathers and students too.

I wonder about it all.  I am eager to learn what it portends.  I am a little bit afraid of its power.

But I will continue to watch, and wonder, and listen, especially to listen, to their voices.