a girl named Content.

Eleven.  Eleven pack up everything we own, clamber into the truck, drive far off into the distance, and attempt to set up something cozy and worthwhile once again.  As a couple, the number reaches eleven.  As an individual, I really don’t feel like counting.

Parts of the big move are appealing.  Shedding materialistic goods, discovering new sights, crystal clear seas, winding mountains, soggy grass…  Vowing to stay organized this time, having beneath your bed be clear of clutter (for a moment anyways), and your closet have clothing actually hanging on the hangers rather than below them… these things are all appealing as well.

The hunt for new friendships is even something to look forward to.  After goodbyes so painful, the wounds of lost sisters fresh in my thoughts, putting yourself out there is difficult.  Even paralyzing at first.  But after a bit of time, and a few lonely days, it’s not hard to get up and go, do some chatting and some laughing and some commiserating with a fellow lady.  It is just good.

Even the stints of loneliness are now somewhat appealing.  After the distractions are all but distant memories, all that is left is the real, raw you.  The you that you can’t escape with any ladies night, the one that your husband knows and your children are learning.  Which one is it?  Which little voice in your chattering mind do you shake hands with on those monotonous days of reminiscing of the old times?

I have now met them all.  My ugly side.  My fresh and sassy side.  My funny side, (I think I am hilarious).  And even my content side.  I like her the best.

So today we set out on a trip north, just to visit with the tried and true in my life:  The friends who I have compared scrapes with since we were nothing but munchkins playing Clue Jr. over some tgif television; The family who already knew all those different personalities before I ever even figured out they were there; The streets that I have trotted down to grab an ice cream cone, see my ladies, sip a latte, meet a boy, take a dip in the deep blue sea.

While I wish with all I have got I was going home to stay, a tiny piece of me wonders if it is in fact home I miss?  Or have I not gotten to know my girl named Content quite well enough.  Do I live for the move, or am I just moving to live?  I know in my heart of hearts I long for permanence, but I am not sure if there is a change that has to happen in me to make this dream come to fruition.


Because the truth is, when it all boils down to it, I can paint egg yolks on my face in the bath tub while sipping on a cup of chamomile anywhere.  Now can’t I?  

Wish us lots of luck and a sweet old lady on our big airplane ride today.  We will need it!


3 thoughts on “a girl named Content.

  1. Home is where the heart is. Home is where you lay your hat. Home is where you are.

    “You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it’s alright.”

    I am so adaptable. I can move and move and start over indefinitely. I was raised this way. I always know there is something to learn somewhere else, a new experience, new paths and adventures and languages. I still hope we can go back overseas while the children are young, it shaped my life.

    But do you know what is even harder than that constant moving and running? Staying in one place. Sticking to it. Fixing it Rather Than buying A new one. Challenging myself to be happy with what we have. Accepting that anywhere is good and bad but not necessarily better. I have a gypsy heart. But oh, how good it has felt to throw down roots for the first time in my life and know that my children will have lasting memories of this home.

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