It's been a year since we came back to Virginia and started renting a house on the edge of the Blue Ridge.  It's hard to explain the roller coaster ride that has been this year.  Transitions are always hard.  That's what I tell every mother.  That's what I tell myself.  That's what I tell my husband and my daughter when we're telling her to stop playing and we have to leave now.  In the past three years we have gone from having a child, to selling everything we own, to a nomad life, to settling down again.  That's a shit ton people.  That's a lot of life.  That's a lot of transitions.

So the truth is after a year of being in one location I still feel homeless.  I still feel unsure of what the next step is.  Unmoored.  As you grow older you realize that a year isn't that long.  Do things need more time?  But time is so precious.  Don't get me wrong, I love the Blue Ridge.  I love our river.  I love doing Mom Life with my friends and I love having lunch with my parents.   There's a lot of love and a lot to love.  And yet...and yet.

We sold the camper last week which was the right move but still pulled at my heart. Taking down all of our pictures from inside, our years worth of Lucy June growing, brought tears to my eyes.  It still felt like home.  But no longer using it as our 24/7 home the cost was too high and will go to funding other adventures.  Sometimes your head and your heart don't align.


 In the words of my amazingly wise shaman brother, "You need to turn your cage into a fortress."  That is the difference between stuck and secure.  To feel content inside your space instead of closed in.  That's what we are somehow still looking for and it's a journey all of its own.  So, for now all I can do is be still and listen.  All I can do is embrace this time of friends/family and knowing that my true home is wrapped within the heartbeats of my two redheads--in my own strength.