Home is Where

by littlesarahbigworld

~OR~

I Once Was Lost But Now Am Loster

~OR~

God Bless America

God Bless America

First meal stateside, PDX. Followed by a mocha, of which I drank maybe a third. Bought a book from Powell’s (Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird) and felt more myself than I had in a long time–reading about writing, thinking about reading and writing, writing about thinking and reading and writing. Also buzzed on northwest caffeine.

Portrait of Jet Lag

Jet. Lag. Stayed up til 2 the first night, slept til noon. All of the no-nos, all of the puffiness and confusion.

Speech

Sammy and Kendra’s wedding. Only as stressful as to be expected, and also: beautiful, intimate, simple, funny, light-hearted, warm and easy. I played viola and made a toast to the best of my abilities. Little brother is married, and a step-father. What a world.

Every Day

Weddings on the brain. Every time I go to the bathroom in my Moms’ house, I see this. I miss this guy. I miss this wedding.

Alberto's

Burritos on the brain, and in the tummy. All I wanted for the first week.

Pre-Sun Runners

Runners under the spotlight, 4:45am, waiting for our 6am start to the Deseret News Pioneer Day 1/2 Marathon. So many fit people, so little sleep, so much time to wait.

Sparkle

Pioneer Day / Pie and Beer day. Sparkling with close friends, not making a big deal, but having a great deal of fun.

Mornings at B&J's

Coffee and pie. To-do lists. Writing. Emails. Catching up. Mornings alone, at B&J’s, watering plants and easing into the day. Sometimes eager, sometimes anxious. Always slow and steady.

Sister Sleepover

Family time. Sister sleepover. Sharing a bed with Natalie, and all we did was read, then sleep. Sometimes, just being together is the thing. And afterwords you have lovely toenails.

B & D

Pool days with Espy, burgers at B & D’s. Getting tan, reading books. It’s a lot like last summer, only completely different.

*       *       *

The thing about being a sensie (one who is sensitive, in all respects), is that life tends to overwhelm me. It floods me with feelings, thoughts, ideas, emotions, worries, and wonder. It takes me a long time to understand what I feel, to “process.” I tend to dwell on the past, to try to understand. I tend to feel swamped by the present, and anxious about the future. I tend to take a while to get from one place to another, needing to swim through an ocean of tears as I adjust to even the smallest changes.

And, oh, it gets old.

Being home is great, and it is not great. Because it is home, and it is not home. If home is where the heart is, then my heart is split into dozens of pieces. My heart is in Salt Lake, and Ogden, and California, and Brooklyn. My heart is in Anchorage. A big chunk of it is in Tokyo, Japan. We were just getting settled there, just starting to feel at home in our apartment and our routine, starting to make friends and have regular hangouts, and explore Japan a bit. I was finally not homesick.

But now I am home again, except that home is no longer home, no longer even a fixed place, but an ever-moving target and I am slow to adjust. The most confusing to my head and heart.

The food, however, is amazing.

Advertisements