The other day I was about to get on the interstate when a silly thought popped into my head.
Ginger, it's time for you to move out of Utah.
For the past 10 years, I have lived in 6 different states. I'm used to up and moving after a few years. I've been in Utah now, (this time around) for about 3 years and I'm starting to feel the itch.
Alas, I can't just up and go. I have a job. I have high hopes for grad school. I have a home. I guess I'm learning commitment one way or another.
Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm a traveler! I always have a trip planned, air plane tickets purchased for a spring get away and a road trip in the back of my mind at all times. I've flown to NYC for a day at last minute. That's the kinda girl I am. (Currently, a trip to DC is planned and air fare has been purchased for Charleston, South Carolina.)
Some states I dreaded moving to. For example, Michigan. And Utah. (Shh! Don't tell my family!)
I was 17, finishing up high school when my parents informed me of our move right after graduation. I must admit it was the perfect time for me to close that chapter and start a new one. I haven't been back to my Colorado home for 10 years. I came close to going back a few weeks ago, but I decided to stay put for the New Year's holiday. I want to remember my home the way it was. Perhaps I'll go back this year. Maybe in 5 years. Or maybe I'll never go back.
My move to Utah taught me the valuable lesson of blooming where you're planted. A hard lesson, but very applicable to a nomad.
And who would be excited about living in Detroit for 18 months? Unless you have a death wish and were prepared by living in Oakland, California or something.
When I opened my mission call and read Michigan instead of Germany, I thought it would have been better to have been called to be a martyr. I didn't sign my acceptance letter for a week. I couldn't stop crying when I was by myself. However, I signed up for the mission and I wasn't going to back out.
Detroit, and the mission for that matter, taught me my greatest life's lesson. You fall in love with what you work for. I will be the first to admit I didn't love the mission in the beginning. It was the hardest transition of my life, but the more I worked for it, the more I wanted it, and the more I wanted it, the more I wanted to share it. Before I knew it, I was in love. I was in love with the people. I was in love with what I was teaching. I was in love with the mission.
I wanted to know the percentage of my life spent in each state. I compiled a pie chart.
So where is my real home? Is it Colorado where I haven't trodden for a decade but spend the majority of my life? Is it Utah where I currently reside but always seem to step in and out of? Is it Arizona where I yearn to be because of the warmth and palm trees? Is it Michigan where I learned what love is? Is it Idaho where I grew? Where is home?
Maybe my life was meant to keep me moving. Maybe my home is a tank full of gas, a map and a packed suitcase waiting by my bedroom door.
