Last night around midnight, we finally landed in Minneapolis after a long couple of back to back flights. We'd just spent the previous five days in complete paradise in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, and we had the tans (ok, sunburns) to prove it. But as we made our way home and started to unpack, I couldn't help but wonder what it is that defines paradise.
Yes, paradise is palm trees and sun and sand, and the sound of the ocean waves brushing the shore. Paradise is an all-inclusive resort where the only thing on your agenda is to sit by a crystal clear pool and devour a novel (and maybe a few pina coladas, too). It's also the part where you come home after being away. It's the moment when you walk in your door to your dogs and cat all barking/mewing/wagging for your attention, twisting themselves around your legs and suitcases. Coming home is sometimes even better than getting away.
When you're on vacation, the hotel beds feel luxurious and you can definitely picture a life spent between plush white down pillows, with room service at your every hunger whim. It is relaxation like nothing else. Yet, there's just something about your own sheets and pillows, the hum of your own house, and the smell of comfort that is incomparable.
The truth is that Minneapolis isn't a picture perfect island; it doesn't have lush sand beaches and endless snorkeling spots. But what it lacks in typical "paradise" requirements, it more than makes up for in its ability to welcome you home again and again. From our lakes to our skyline, our Minnesota niceties to our Prince die-hards, we live in such an amazing city, and every day I'm beyond grateful to call Minneapolis home. And, quite frankly, at the end of the day, nothing's better.
Guest post by Megan Warner