I expected it to be hard to be here. It hasn’t been.
The lady who owns the stamp store asked Saturday if it was strange to be back. What I’m finding stranger is that it doesn’t feel strange. I felt most of the day like Patrick was waiting for me at home in Anchorage. It feels NORMAL to be here. I do keep getting confused, though. The weather is about a month behind where it ought to be. One of Patrick’s friends I just ran into says it is supposed to snow on Wednesday. I can’t figure out WHEN I am.
But this definitely doesn’t feel like home. It is comfortable and familiar, but not home. And it feels the same as it did before. That makes me oddly sad. I can’t tell if I am sad because I ought to feel more, or sad that I didn’t realize it before and go sooner.
I didn’t really think about it until we started talking about moving, that maybe Alaska wasn’t quite where I belonged. What would have been the point, to even notice? This is where my family is, so this is where I was.
I don’t know exactly where I belong yet, but Tacoma is more like. I still have the urge to be in Seattle, but Seattle was my first experience with the world on my own. My first taste of independence. It will always be special to my heart. I don’t get there as often as I would like, even now.
I suspect I am a wanderer at the core. I am rarely mentally where I am. I keep hearing Yoda, when I catch myself thinking about what has passed, and what is happening later: (how I remember it, because I can’t find the quote) “Always somewhere else, your mind is. Not on where you are, what you are doing.” It’s a sad thing, to miss out on your life, because you can’t be where you are. I’m working on that.
And now, I am going to spend the day here, in the present, in my skin, happy where I am and with the people I am with. I am going to hug people I haven’t seen in months, and people who I am going to get to see again very soon, and try to be in every moment.