I remember asking my parents if we could move when I was a kid. I wanted to get out of the house I was in. I wanted a change. I wanted an adventure. I wanted something new.
And we did. We moved. And I honestly thought it was because I had asked. In retrospect, I will concede that there MAY have been a few other factors involved besides my elementary-aged plea for change. I got my own room in the new house, it was bigger, there were stairs (all kids wants stairs, no adults want stairs). I thought it was great. I really did.
But then, I didn't. At some point, I missed the old house. And started to feel like I wasn't so crazy about this new house. I began to think that I just wanted to buy that old house again when I was grown up and raise MY kids in that house because it was the best house ever in the whole wide world (by the way, no exaggeration here, it WAS and it still IS).
And then in college, I wanted to move to the East Coast for a school internship and I did for a few minutes and then realized that was a terrible idea and came home crying on a plane with all my stuff and no plans whatsoever and parents and faculty advisors and friends and everyone who were all saying, "Huh? What's that now?" Because it turned out that I didn't want to leave home at all.
And as I get older, I find myself wanting to move less and less. This is probably my grandfather in me.
And yet I married someone who loves to SAIL. He loves the feel of the shifting ground under his feet. Moving, jumping, spinning, falling down, the swells, the wind... this is what is HOME to him. And to me, I just feel nauseous and want to put my head overboard until we are done. Until we are home.
We are the Owl and the Pussycat.
But I will say this about my land legs and my domestic heart and my failing wanderings, for every adventure I had, willing or unwilling, for every move I have ever made, for every voyage that I put my heart into, I have learned this...that trying is BETTER than just staying on Brennan Way in that very first house.
I changed because I tried. I grew because I tried. I lived full because singing birds romanced me onto their boats. And they still do. And even when I fail, it makes a kind of mark in me that I, now and always will, look back into and see as brilliant, evident growth plates dazzling through my life.
And though it makes my stomach sometimes hurt, it makes for the best story. The moves all make sense and they are the only way to get to the end where we dance by the light of the moon,