Simply as an accident of how things transpired (sudden drop-off in remote work, quick exit from the Balkans, then to ground in a city where I'd certainly rather not be, but one with which I'm very familiar after a couple of decades), I find myself constantly not just trying to get back over there, but mentally still there, in a way. I will read a chapter or two of philosophy, and then it's as if I'm standing on a street in Belgrade or Skopje. As if normal, productive life ended there.
The mornings, when I first sit down to work after the workout, Mass, breakfast and lectio, are difficult. As if I'm a barge on a river, weaving through immense foggy walls of sleep, Occasionally, I'll look up and see a repeated keystroke filling the screen, and realize that Lethe had had me for a bit. (I'm not sure how much being surrounded by other has to do with this difficulty.)
There are, of course gigs similar to the one that funded the pilgrimage, but this work is not exactly a straightforward meritocracy. For that matter, I have the qualifications in law and theatre after years of work, and almost a research doctorate, but... the same caveat applies.
So I have the projects that I'm working on, using the world-class library while I have it, and I keep looking for the foothold that help me find an 'internal exile' place with basic first-world provisions, but I'm increasingly thinking that I should be aiming abroad. Given both my specific situation and the larger picture, the Republic might prove uncongenial. The work is the point.