That's me. That's how I'm feeling.
When I look around at my life, I realize I should be content. I'm not.
Fifteen years ago, if you walked up and told me, "In 15 years you will be married to a traveling husband, have 3 home schooled kids, and live in suburbia," I probably would have laughed in your face.
Ten years ago, if you walked up and said, "When you finish this school year, you won't come back to teach for at least ten years," I would have laughed in your face.
Don't get me wrong. I love my husband. I love my kids. Suburbia...eh, it's not all bad, but it's not for me. And I'm restless.
I grew up in a different place. I grew up where it was quiet. At night we heard coyotes, not sirens. If a car drove by our house, we knew who it was and where they were going. We waved. We smiled. We made small talk not out of obligation, but because we cared. We played outside in open spaces. We didn't worry about crossing into the neighbor's yard and upsetting anyone (That has not happened to us. We do like our neighbors, fortunately!). We climbed trees...BIG trees, trees that had stories to tell. We explored the woods beside our childhood home. We made up games, used our imagination, pretended we were in a different time and place. We were free. We got up in the morning and went outside, came in for lunch, went back out, came in for dinner and sleep. Next day: same song.
As is typical with most kids, I didn't realize how awesome my life was. I wanted something different. I wanted to live in town.
Can you go home again?