Memories of Things

It's weird, starting life over from nothing in your mid-30s. At this point you're supposed to know what you want to be and, well, be that. You probably have some stuff (okay, a lot) that's begun to accumulate, especially if there are children involved. There are families and relationships and life that happens, houses or apartments that fill up and fill out, experiences that hunker down in your memories for perusal at a later date. 

I had all of that. And then I didn't. And then I started over with some suitcases and a few boxes and some borrowed furniture. I used to have lots of great kitchen stuff - I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. Now I don't spend nearly as much time as I really ought to, because when I'm there, I get mad. I look for something I just know I have, like a pastry blender or a little strainer, and it's nowhere to be found. I have the memories of all the things that I used to have, things that were mine, that I loved, that I used all the time, and that are no longer within reach. And then I look around at my new life and see memories of all those other things I used to have - and it's frustrating. 

I used to have this anticipation and excitement about the future. There was always a plan or a goal or a cause, and due to the nature of my former life, new places and adventures at more-frequent-than-normal intervals. Now I live here…in Nebraska…where I never really wanted to be in the first place…to which I swore I would not return for keeps if at all possible. 

A couple of weeks ago I had a really great conversation about what makes someplace "home". The question was, if I could live anywhere with no limitations, where would I like to be? Where would I find peace and that "I made it" feeling? If not here, where? And it was fun to talk about the possibilities and the things that would be deal-breakers. And then the conversation turned to the things that tie people to a place, things like jobs, families, familiarity, inertia. And the question then was, what would it take to make "home"? Do you pursue your career and hope it takes you somewhere you like? Do you pick a place you would like to live and find something to do there? So much has to do with attitude, with making a conscious decision to put down roots. Lots of people say they never thought they would end up in a certain place or that they would stay in a certain place…and there are not always formulated explanations for the whys. 

I wonder myself what it would take to find my home. I don't feel at home here. I have a long list of reasons, which most people who talk to me on any sort of regular basis can recite along with me. I have some ideas about where I would rather live. I definitely have ideas about some other jobs I would like to try. But my reality is, I have a job I don't hate that compensates me well enough to provide for my children, I have a place to live that is comfortable and more than adequate, my boys are tired of moving. I am blessed, even if the blessing comes with a lot of corn and snow. To my currently discontented selfish self, that sounds like a lot of settling, a lot of making do, a lot of "ok but not awesome". And I want awesome. I want to love what I do and feel like I'm making a difference, I want a lovely and love-filled roof over my head, and I want my kids to thrive. I want more than memories of things. And I want to have the courage to move towards home. It could end up being right here (I'm not giving up yet on more sand and sun, though)…but it better have a better backstory than "I just ended up here and here I am."