The other night, I sat on my parent’s driveway with a friend until it was way past an acceptable time to be doing so. I was instantly reminded of being in high school, and half of me was still on the lookout for the cop car that used to park not-so-inconspicuously around the corner to monitor the parties that often happened at my neighbor’s house. (I never went to those parties – partly because I was never invited, partly because I never would have gone anyway. The worst thing a cop ever busted me for in high school was being out past our town curfew, and even then he said we could finish our paint war as long as we didn’t get any on the park’s sidewalk.)
Normally, I would hate feeling like I was back in the four most awkward years of my life; but the other night, I didn’t mind so much.
I have always loved going home. Granted, I know I am lucky to feel that way, and I know I am even luckier that it only takes me thirty or so minutes, depending on traffic, to be home again. I am especially grateful for these facts when things feel a little tumultuous. I always feel like spending some time at my parents’ house is grounding. Even if we don’t take a single moment to talk about anything serious, even if a good chunk of the time is spent pouring more wine into glasses and singing to Jimmy Buffet, I always feel incredibly refreshed after I’ve been home.
The past week was a weird one. Some of you – mainly the people who know me – know about some of my life changes. I think these are all good, healthy, and necessary changes – and even some exciting ones. But that doesn’t mean that change in and of itself is any less intimidating. In fact, sometimes the best changes are the most terrifying ones.
I know that my blog has not been the happiest lately. I wouldn’t go as far as to call it sad, but I know that my tone has definitely been… reflective. Subdued. Pensive.
I promise, eventually it will change. In fact, it will sooner-than-eventually change. I have felt more at peace in the past few days than I have in a while, and I think that can be absolutely nothing except a really good sign.
The other night, my mom ordered Chinese food and my stepdad poured the wine. We sat on the back patio and over analyzed the new take out place we’d tried, I was way too informed about NASCAR drivers that I didn’t have a clue about, and we did not work on resumes, which is why I was supposed to be there in the first place. I sat on the driveway with a friend until it was way past an acceptable time to be doing so, and I walked back into the house smiling.
The other night, I came home.
And I’m incredibly glad that I did.