It’s been awhile since I’ve posted any new writings. Mostly because it’s the time of year when I barely have time to shower let alone write and post. But also because I’m still trying to determine how to word what I want to say.
Well, last month the hubby and I took a brief vacation from the world of St. Louis (it was perfect timing, I slipped out of MO the day before the big debate) and went home for awhile. It had been 3 years since I’d been home (to northern NYS).
We rented a car, drove all around the state visiting friends and family. We dropped in on a few of our old haunts including our home church and the college we graduated from. It was really great to get to see a lot of people. But it was also kind of disturbing.
After all, here I am 3 years since my last visit and it feels like I’ve been gone a lifetime. I can navigate the roads with my eyes closed. I know how to get to the Walmart; I remember the best place to buy a Michigan. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels like I’m visiting some nostalgic land of foggy dreams. Like I had forgotten my hometown actually existed. It doesn’t make sense because St. Louis doesn’t feel like my permanent home either. It’s just the place where I live, the place I lay my head at night.
Maybe it’s just a part of growing up. Maybe it’s my writer-ly imagination messing with my head. Anybody else ever ran into this kind of thing?