It feels weird to me to not be thinking about moving or the possibility of moving. Since 2005, I’ve been in Florida, Michigan, California, traveling the country for work, Tennessee, and now here. My heart remains in California, with a small piece in Tennessee.
It feels so strange to have signed another lease, another willing commitment to stay in a place for set amount of time? It kind of makes me feel gross.
But, for some reason, we felt stay, so we stay.
I know better than to ask why.
Staying is harder for us than going, it absolutely is, my husband dreams about the west coast daily, wondering when he will return. I crave the ocean like a caffeine
addict admirer and I know all about that.
For now, we pause the on-going search, full of the questions, and we must try to make this home and be completely here. Although, it’s never felt that way, only a fleeting transition, one short chapter in our story. Alas, we must give the author the control to write it his way, he tells the best stories.
This place of staying is foreign to me. Some don’t adapt well to change, I’m not sure how exactly one stays.
This is where I am.