I’m getting over it.  Every time I read my friend Megan’s blog, it’s like I’m getting hit in the face with a blast of honesty, getting a little shock of it’s-ok-to-say-what-you-think.  Even some it’s-ok-to-feel-what-you-feel.  (Yes, it’s great to be a southern woman.)  I just found out she’s getting the hell out of dodge, renting an apartment in Manhattan for the summer.  Going to a new place, walking on some new ground, looking at some new faces.  Breathing some new air.  Maybe it’s the coffee, maybe it’s the Fleet Foxes’ “Sun it Rises,” but I’ve got some adrenaline going on, and I want to get on the plane on May 8th with Marshall and never come back.  And by “never” of course I mean “not until I’m ready,” but I still feel like I need something elsewhere, and that it may not be a short process.  I need some refuge, and some adventure.

I’ve been practically dancing w/joy in my backyard, loving working with the soil and getting my plants ready to put in the ground, building the bed edges w/brick, so I’m pretty confused at the moment about what I want to be doing.  And, oh this is probably a contributing factor! but Katie and I were just talking about this, the problem of travel and roots, how to put down roots while experiencing wanderlust or I’ve-got-to-get-outta-here-ness, or how to take full advantage of opportunities to see other places while longing for one’s own postage stamp of earth.  I don’t know the answer, but I’m ok with broadcasting some confusion.

I know things are changing for me … but I don’t really know what they are, and I’m glad it doesn’t feel like death, today; I’m glad it feels like caffeine, or like there’s some grand thing to be done.  Or yeah, ok, more like the latter.  After living for a while feeling kind of purposeless and disconnected, I’m telling God He needs to give me some kind of purpose and some kind of adventure, and I’m fairly ready for that to happen right now.  Or, maybe next week.  Maybe Monday.

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