Our time in Washington was memorable. There aren’t any words, really, that do it justice. We rented a house for a month and I was worried that I would forget what our life in Michigan felt like, it was that seamless. The last puzzle piece, lost under the couch for ten years until the moving truck comes and finds it. That was this month. Complete.
I was trying to explain this to a friend of mine and the best I can do is that going home felt like being adopted and meeting my family for the first time. They looked like me and talked like me and we’d be hanging out and someone would say “you look just like … when you …” or “No way! Me, too!” Even weird stuff, like the kinds of products I use or different cooking things. There was just so much LIKENESS. So much of me. I wasn’t the only one.
My aunts are writers and they write books! Like, it’s not just this idea they’re dreaming about or this secret they don’t talk about. They’re DOING IT. They’ve done it. No one looked at me funny when I took photos of literally everything or recorded their stories and they all went along withy my wild adventures. Clamming (even if it rains), baking hundreds of cookies for a kids market (even if they don’t sell), fishing (even if we don’t catch anything). My grandma said we really revved up their life while I was talking to her on the phone since we’ve been home and I feel the same way. The very best possible way. All revved up.
But being back in Michigan feels like I’m driving around in my past. We’re back and life is “returning to normal” and I don’t know why I keep waiting for my past to tell me a different story. It never changes. I’m tired of waiting. There’s a lot to learn here so I’m listening but still struggling to find the silver lining.
I’m excited for what’s next. Who knows, maybe we’ll do this next year. Or maybe we’ll find ourselves traveling to all the corners of the globe immersion style. It’s not out of the question, as I’ve learned over and over again, anything is possible. And never say never.