Close to Home

29 Mar

My parents have three daughters – God love them – and out of the three of us, I was always the one that wanted to get the fuck out. I wanted to travel and never see my parents again, change my name and maybe pretend I came from somewhere else entirely.

And, uh, maybe not surprisingly – I am the one that has stuck closest to home. I’ve had the chance to travel, professionaly, and it was lovely. I have been places I could have never taken myself – museums after hours in Spain, the Roosevelt in New Orleans and (yes, of course) the Miss America pageant. I have been so lucky.

But. Buuuuuut. But. I’m still here in Grand Rapids, living in basically the same apartment I lived in when I was 19. I see my mother 2 or 3 times a week, my father about once a month. I work in the same industry my father has worked in his whole life.

To say that this is not how my life was supposed to work out is obvious, right? I didn’t see this. I wouldn’t have picked this. But I am breathlessly happy most of the time. I don’t want to be teaching English in Korea (a plan my ex and I had) or going to grad school in Chapel Hill. Right now, for whatever reason, I am supposed to be here. There is some kind of cosmic porch light, I think, and for me it has switched on.  I feel compelled to stay on the porch and see what the night brings.

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