My life, in boxes

It feels like I've been waiting for five years to get back to the place that never stopped being home to me. It has been two and a half. Two and a half of the longest, yet quickest years to pass me by. Moving from West coast to East coast felt like having my feet pulled out from under me. My knees were scraped, and my heart was bruised, but it was a time of renewal, of healing and self exploration. I've always thought of myself as a west coast person, growing up in Montana and Nevada, surrounded by mountains and grassy plains. Moving to Ohio was different, and foreign. I still feel that way here, I suppose. Eyes wide open, humidity clinging to my every pore, and a foreigner to my surroundings.

As of now, my life is divided into six boxes, with more to come, surely. Six boxes filled with cups and plates and forks, with inspiration and buckets of hope. I've moved before, from town to town, but this time it's my choice. This time, it is the right time. This time, I'm going home. Wherever that may end up being.

I always imagined that I would move away from home much sooner than I did. Living with my parents during my first two years of college were never in the plans, but then again plans were never my forte...until now. Now they are my best friend, and my tour guide on a new adventure.