peregrinator

"What do you miss the most?" is a common coming home question.  Beach walking in the sand to the sound of morning doves rattles off her list.  It is our last night in Tucson. I listen while I watch the Tucson sky, with it's bleeding sun and tissue thin clouds, as it leans over the hazy mountains to kiss the land goodnight.

I miss nothing.

For the first time in my life- nothing.

When we began traveling for gymnastics I would spend hours daydream myself back home. I would mark the farthest point of away and count down the return.  I would get so homesick I couldn't eat.  I over-packed and over planned.  Yet I still felt lost and unprepared.

Over the years my load has slowly been getting lighter and lighter.  The bags easier to carry.   The travel less work and more fun.

The last time I answered the "what do you miss the most" question there was only one thing on my list: my full size coffee pot.

Even that has fallen off.  I have found coffee is easy to find.  All beds are pretty equal.  All light switches and shower fixtures, short solvable mysteries.

I have stayed and traveled so many places now I have learned to let go of home.  I have learned to really read maps.  Ventured out alone in strange cities.  I trust myself in ways I never thought I would again. 

The drive heading north into SLC is a long concrete carpet littered with traffic.  It starts on the south edge of Provo and doesn't end.  The interstate plows out at least 4 lanes wide between industrial buildings and shitty apartments for miles and miles- a front row to the ass of blight.

Beach in the backseat dreaming of the things she missed while we were away.

And me in the front turning to BC to say, "When she is all done with this," (meaning gymnastics) "we need to move.  I am done living in a big city."

He says nothing.  I know what he is thinking.  I said I wanted to plant fruit trees in our yard that our grandchildren's children will eat from.  I wanted a forever home with land and low fences.  History disguised as crisscrossing grapevines. Soft soil in the corners and tall grasses in the fields.

But I don't need that anymore. I don't need any of this to be okay. I just need you.