Wanderlust

Planning for the next phase of one’s life is exhausting. And by that I mean searching out neighborhoods and homes. The one in our hands down favorite first choice neighborhood didn’t materialize; it was mysteriously taken off the market last week. So for whatever reason - and I do believe things happen for a reason - that wasn’t our house.

I’m staying positive; I’m just tired and feeling terribly behind on projects because this has all become a second job. It’s a matter of prioritizing and relocating is a priority right now. I’ve lived in the same neighborhood for 14 years; the same house for 10. It is the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere in my adult life.

When I look back on my roots I can’t figure out where this wanderlust came from. I grew up in a small farming community in the Midwest. My mom (at age 88) has never lived farther than 10 miles from where she was born. That holds true for almost everyone I knew growing up. So why was I chomping at the bit to leave home at 19 and not look back? I still smile thinking about my late Dad – he was sure I’d “come home” eventually. When I went thru my divorce at 35 and started my single life with two teenage boys he was really sure I’d “come home.” Nope. At 46 I did come home for three weeks when he was dying in hospice. But at the end of that saga I couldn’t wait to hit the road and return to my adopted home.

I’ve lived in (or at least near) the mountains and loved them for a long time. Someday before this journey ends I will live by the sea. I have to. Or I will consider it an unfinished life.

But until then I just need to find a house in my hands down favorite first choice neighborhood. And I will; I’m sure of it. Because 14 years is far too long to be in one place. I’m opening my mind and my heart and keeping my eyes wide open for any flying bricks coming my way.