Monday, March 21, 2011
Here and There
I've been in Indiana now since I was 17, so I've spent an equal number of years Here vs. There. If life were as exact and compartmentalized and scientific as I am apt to wish, everything would be even now, and I would feel precisely the same way about both.
But roots are different from branches, aren't they?
My roots reach all the way back down, winding across long stretches of road I could drive with my eyes closed.
I go back to my roots and I just know things. I'm not the out-of-towner, there. People ask me about my Dad. The neighbor guy delivers dinner to the door. I spy an old classmate walking right past the bicycle shop that has always been there, in all of its mysterious, dusty, bike-ishness.
I return Here to my family and my home and the guy who loves me best. I'm a proud Indiana girl. I'm happy to raise little Hoosiers. The branches here are full, and they're lovely. With every year, they reach out a little farther.
There's no big point here, no tidy ends to twist into a smart bow, surprising even myself with the way it all came together.
Or, maybe that is the point - that this just never does come together.
Maybe I'll live my life caught square between the door-frames of two different Homes, and that's not at all a bad thing. Maybe I'll be the only person who really distinguishes one flat, beautiful land from the other. Maybe the There will always contrast the Here in a way that makes them both a little more captivating and bright.
I loved my time with my Sister. I loved seeing old friends under the rafters of old, old Truths.
I'm not gonna lie - I loved the food.
Last night, I found myself in that too-familiar condition of grasping for sleep. My body wanted it so badly but my mind is tougher. It has always been this way.
So, I faced one wall and remembered all over again that there's a reason I'm Here instead of There. It goes far beyond this life that I hold by the hand.
I flipped around to face the other wall and did my best to look into the eyes of some exciting things trudging across the soggy, Indiana soil. They're headed my way. Our way. With everything around me dark and sleeping, I heard them coming nearer. In the wide open space of quiet, I listened to the Truth that gives everything I have its breath and its motion, its soul: This life is not my own.