And So It Is ...

I obsess over anniversaries: One year since somebody died; twenty-five years since an album was released; sixty years since a battle was fought. It's a strange, usually subconscious, reflex that leaves me saying things like "I can't believe that this time last year I was ..." This time last year I was packing my life into boxes. It sounds like a metaphor, but I was actually wrapping glasses in sheets of paper, throwing out mementos when I couldn't convince myself that a plastic fluorescent green hat or Easter card from home was worth saving, and dismantling my "nook" while convincing myself I was making the right choice. I gave myself one year. I told myself that if I missed it as much as I did the day I left, that I would move back. That I would get my own place, find a new job, and move back. Well, without a doubt I miss it more than I did a year ago, and I still think about heading back on a weekly basis. But the world isn't so black and white. Time frames bend, and I'm happy here. Another month or so and I'll have my own place (a bachelorette pad one might say), with a job I love, great friends and a million other reasons to stay. So, maybe if I miss it as much TWO years after I left, then I'll repack my life into boxes – but not yet. It's been a crazy year and a wonderful year, that's for sure.