You know that moment when you let a helium balloon go and it floats up and up until you cannot see it anymore? Today I am trying to decide if that for me feels like freedom, or being lost.
Recently some big changes have come about in my life. Things that I'd always assumed would be there were sold, rather speedily. And it's not like I needed those things in my life. It is just that, in the nomadic life that I lead, it feels safe to know that there is a little bit of constant ground.
Anyway. It lead me to wonder if maybe it wasn't time to figure out where my own constant would be. Home is where the heart is, I know. But where does my heart want to be? I have been making list after list. Using google to make more lists.
As a child we lived in about 5 or 6 houses before I was in fact 5 or 6. But thereafter, things didn't really change for a while. Fast track another 20 or so years and I've lived in 3 countries. Nomadic. But fun.
Yet inside of me there is a deep desire to let my roots grow further than a pots depth. I want to paint my house. And break down walls. And build garden sheds and paint those. I want my own.
Maybe children have something to do with it. Possibly the fact that all my friends with children have already decided what school they'd attend. Before their first birthdays. The thought fills be with dread. How do I decide? And commit, and pay deposits. I came from a small pond. With one school.
Anyway. It seems the string to my own balloon has been clipped. Just hoping the tree I end up in is the right one.
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