It’s that time again.
We have been here for three and a half years. That is the longest we have lived anywhere in the last…. thirteen years. And we are getting that itch again.
Itching for something new. Something warmer. Something… different.
We want to give the
kids stability, but we also want them to share our life experiences, and being
a nomad is an intrinsic part of who we are.
But,
we love New York.
We love our home, the
one we bought in an attempt to set up roots. Even if we knew we would not
always live in it, just having it means we “have a home”.
If only literally.
It’s that time again.
We’ve been here long enough to have started growing timid roots. We have begun to find a tribe of our own. Like treasures in a thrift shop, we have foraged through the rubble and found unique pieces, here and there, people who make us laugh, who make us think, who make us wonder and remember parts of ourselves that often fall dormant. I can begin to envision those roots flourishing. I can begin to see how these timid friendships could blossom.
We’ve been here long enough to have started growing timid roots. We have begun to find a tribe of our own. Like treasures in a thrift shop, we have foraged through the rubble and found unique pieces, here and there, people who make us laugh, who make us think, who make us wonder and remember parts of ourselves that often fall dormant. I can begin to envision those roots flourishing. I can begin to see how these timid friendships could blossom.
But.
We can’t have both.
It’s either roots or
wings.
It's that time again.