🌵 29 🌵
*long read, basically a blog post but here we go*
Strangers are walking past, focused, each with a place or space awaiting their arrival. A friend. A family member; mother, father, husband, wife, children and pets eager for their reunion. The bustle and energy is light but chaotic with mellow tones of anticipation and excitement. An overhead announcement declares it’s time to board. I get to go home.
It’s day 1 of my twenty-ninth year on this planet, and in true Crystel fashion, I book a flight to visit a soul sister in Arizona. A solo trip, just me, no kids, no demands, responsibility, escaping the wild life my high school sweetheart and I have built. It’s wild. Two kids. Two dogs. Full time work and full time business owner, wife, mama and chaos coordinator at your service.
The intention of this trip was to kick off the last year in my twenties off with a bang. In my favorite city with a stranger that became a soul sister at first sight while working in peds. Relax. Renew. Recharge.
@ctjomsland
*que iPhone alarm sound*
Now don’t think it wasn’t any of those things. It was indeed ALL of them. There was an additional life realization that has been much greater, the reason I was drawn to come here, on my birthday weekend, for me to genuinely be humbled by.
At this point people are lining up to board the plane to bring us back to our loved ones, and I’m content, sitting, finger tips gently tapping away on my screen. Tears well in my eyes. I’m going home.
Home
noun: the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.
No. Home is not a place. Home is a person. Home is my person. It’s you. My rock. My soulmate. My husband. Father of my children. My person.
@caleb.a.becker
*cont in comments
