Flight Risk

These past few months have gone past like a blur. Highs and lows. Lows and highs. Trying to find some semblance of a middle ground between two worlds trying to co-exist at the same time. I just keep getting this feeling that where I am right now is merely a holding point - a juxtaposition of sorts - pointing out the obvious of where I do and don't belong. Wondering as I am prone to do what the difference is between running away and running to and whether it really matters much at all if the end result produces what I really need, someplace new to begin.

The last time I felt this way - this restless urge to leave without looking behind - KC was four months old and I was reeling from the responsibility of it all, and the reality of having to do it all on my own. The truth was that what I wanted most at that time was to run South as fast as my feet could carry me to the comfort and the relative safety of my Mother. Because it seems that no matter how old I get, being around my Mom is like a respite for the weary and I am quick to shrug the grown up from my shoulders and give my inner child a few spare moments on the outside.

But somehow this time something feels different. Perhaps this time, it's not so much a reaction to negative forces around me but more so an honest reaction from my heart that feels more at home someplace else than I've ever truly felt here. Or maybe it's because I've spent so much time there these past few months, almost every other weekend for the last two, that I've created this home away from home. But I know - with a certainty that I've never had before that this feeling is as real as real can get.

But a grown woman has anchors. A child that doesn't want to move. A job that wouldn't relocate. A best friend who would be too far away for comfort. And the fear of turning my world upside down when I've only just settled into it after an exhausting year of domestic torture I only barely made it through. And yet... I can't rid myself of the familiarity of a different set of streets, the view of mountains rising tall against a summer sky, the smell of pine that lingers like molasses on the air, and the feeling each and every time I go back that what I've really done is come back home.