Homesick

I was back in Tallahassee this past weekend to attend a friend's graduation. I've made the trip down there a number of times since we've moved to North Carolina, but for whatever reason, I was struck with a touch of sadness this past trip. As I was driving into downtown on Saturday morning, I grew incredibly nostalgic. I had driven those roads for 13 years and while I still knew every twist and turn in the road, they weren't my roads anymore.

That night, over drinks at a rooftop bar overlooking the city, I realized that I wasn't homesick for Tallahassee, I was homesick for our house (which we still own). The house that we bought as a newly married couple. The house where we brought Parker home from the hospital. It was lovely and quaint and perfect. More importantly, it was ours. Since we moved a year ago, we've lived in two houses and while they've both been great in their own way, they've both been temporary. Not that there's anything wrong with temporary and quite frankly, we're as yet undecided as to whether we want to stay near campus or move into Asheville. While I logically know that buying a house would be a bad move right now, it still stresses me out that I don't know where we'll be living in a year or two.

My problem with transiency lies in the fact that I like roots. Deep, predictable roots. You see, my parents have been living in the same house for over 25 years. When we visit them, I still sleep in the same room that I've been sleeping in since I was 7 years old. Nothing feels safer than being in my parents' house and I want to make sure that Parker has that same sense of security. While I know that we can make a home out of any house that we call our own (however temporarily), I'll wistfully wait for the day when we've landed at our final nesting place