Lighthouses and Mud Flats

My life is so foreign to me, lately.  What I thought it might be is not at all what it is.  That's not a bad thing; it just "is".  Our daughter is now 18 mos.  Our miracle baby.  Full of fire and life and energy and chutzpah. She yells and cries and laughs and runs and plays and melts my heart every day.  We moved 18 hours away from our families to begin a new life in new state, in a strange city.  As the excitement of the "new" fades a little, the separation from all that was familiar starts to ache.  I miss my family and my work friends. Very much. And though I don't miss many things about where I came from, I miss the smell of the ocean.  I do.  And even one or two of those unwelcomed cold misty days in the summer where shorts and a t shirt aren't an option and you curse the weather gods for giving you such shit weather in July.  I am finding my new home very enjoyable. So many good things about it.  But by leaving, I now realize that my soul is made up of the salt water that laps the shores, the fog horns that blow at night; which I could hear from my house, the Italian sandwiches with extra tart pickles from Amato's, the smell of the crunchy leaves being raked into bags in the fall, the taste of fresh sweet summer lobster, the drive from my house to my Mom's house that I have made thousands of time, the smell of her kitchen and the sound of her wind chimes. The image of her always waving from her front porch as I drove away after a visit. It's part of my DNA, my genetic makeup.  I can't change it any easier than I can change my green eyes or left handedness. It's what I know and who I am.  I am a stranger in a new land now.  A transplant. All the tastes and smells and sounds of this place are new to me. Admittedly, it's a wonderful feeling to have my senses awakened again by a new world.  And yet, it makes me long for what I knew so well.

I understand now, why people move away and then find their way back eventually.  It's because their soul needs the salt air to survive; whether they like it or not.  It's because they long to hear that horrible accent again and use the word "wicked" among others who use it, too.  And not only use it, but use it correctly.  It's not their choice. They have no choice.  It's who they are.  And though you can move elsewhere, it's always gonna call to you. Perhaps only in the smallest way in the deepest corner of your heart.  But, it will always call out to you and beckon you home.