I often find myself dreaming in cities. I fast forward to the years ahead, and ponder at the thought of where we will be. I am certain my husband thinks I try to live life urgently. I'm always finding an exhortation to wake up to a truer life.
The fine wind has ushered us from Utah, to Alaska, to California, and now, in Georgia. While I am grateful for the experiences we've encountered and conquered, I long for a place I can truly call home.
What is that familiar anecdote "your heart is home"? Yet, I feel as though I need a connection, a friendship, a magnificent ode that needs validation. Perhaps, I am ungenerous, and curmudgeonly with my awkwardness around others. Fleeing from those relationships are appropriate for me, because I don't have the courage in knowing you (although I really do want your attention).
I am not a misanthropic being though. I cherish the human spirit; fellow stranger bearing a smile, for the mom who speaks to me first, for the church member who asks "how are you doing", the waiter who cleans up my table, to the stock boy who finds me a can of corn, and of course, to the friends (without no avail) are not hindered by my distinct acuteness.
These small preferences gather momentum for me to act with Faith.
There is warmth in the portraits of these cities. Some might think, feel, or see only traffic, smog, cars, and tall buildings. I see a prelude of longing in the skylines, an immediate pulse to imagine high hopes or the faint of shadows.
