A big part of me loves stability. I have lived in five states and two countries in my twenty-seven years and I don’t really call one place home. Home is where I lay my head and I am always anticipating leaving and living somewhere else. That makes me jealous of stability. I look at families at church who have grandparents and parents and kids and aunts and uncles and cousins and they all live in the same place and go to each other’s sporting events and birthday parties. We moved away from my extended family when I was eight. My family is my everything. But I don’t have that stability or that ability to stay.
I have been on more planes than I can count. I often visit the same places to see the same people. I love adventure and exploring. While I find comfort at home and when I am content in my life I lose my wandering spirit a little bit, my newly-single self is very down with flying by myself and traveling the country. Sitting in one place eternally just feels restless.
In June I flew to Portland, Oregon, which is the closest place to home that I have. I lived there for ten-ish years, during middle school and high school. One of my high school BFFs was getting married, so my ladies and I made a weekend of it. I will share a few posts from the weekend, so stay tuned for some great memories from one of my favorite places in the world.
Until next time,