I just found myself writing to a friend, “Wish I was there to give you a hug.” After I wrote it and sent it off, I teared up a little, and I looked at those words. And it hit me how often I’ve been saying and thinking those words lately: “Wish I was there.”
I wrote a post several months ago called “Living far away from people.” My husband and I got married at the end of 2014 and immediately moved across the country. Before that, we lived close to his family, and my family, and his friends, and my friends. We’ve made some friends here. But for the most part, our support system is still far away. This morning, I’m thinking especially about how, not only are the people who support me far away, but, I’m far away from the people I want to support. And that’s a loss, too.
It feels like the dialogue in my head these days goes something like this: “What should I do here, while I’m not there.” And, “What could I be working toward here, that I could eventually bring back to there.” We recently purchased tickets to go back to visit for a weekend. And while I’m excited, it’s a little crushing. Because it means that after that weekend, we’ll come back here. We won’t again be there for some time. Home is here. But home is there. I’m struggling to reconcile those two realities.
I wrote a poem about this stuff. It has to do with something I’ve been doing to cope. It has to do with HGTV. I suppose there are more destructive things. But I am going to keep trying to be here, despite a huge slab of my heart being there.
Watching an inordinate amount of house hunting programs
The original, the international,
the tiny, the one in which they
buy a farm. And
next month, volunteering
to build a home. For
people who need a home.
“People who need a home.”
A broad description.
A description of so many
of us. Including we who
already have a home.