Home.

Often in the last year or two, I've been struck with the sleepless nights. Anxiety and worry fill my every thought rather than dreams of puppies and unicorns. Recent nights are no different. Perhaps now, the nights feel worse, even with my toolbox of self help skills, a great support group, and CR. I spend the wee hours of the night awake. In the sleepless nights, I scroll through countless Pinterest images, play my Simpsons game on my iPhone to exhaustion, then after I've stalked the Facebook and Instagram posts of the day, I'm left stirring.

These days my thoughts wander to a feeling of home. I left my childhood home at age 18 (and it was sold in the last few years after the divorce of my parents). Since then I've had 13 roommates and 10 addresses in the last 17 years. And to date, in a sense, I feel homeless. My life is in boxes and a 130 square foot storage unit. I no longer have a DVR filled with my trashy TV to watch, or a fridge filled with my own expired leftovers and jars of who knows what. I don't have family photos hanging on the walls or my piles of nonsense to sort. Most of my furniture has been sold off. And I sleep on air mattresses and couches. Sure, much of this could be filed under first world problems, but ultimately there is a deeply rooted longing for "home." The plans I had were quickly stripped and rerouted. 

In reality, I could take this in a spiritual direction as we all should long for our eternal home. But I'm on earth. And Lord willing, I've got some good years left on this planet. So until I'm at those pearly gates, I long to walk in the door of my own place and collapse. I would like to cook a good meal. I'd like to be surrounded by faces of those I love. I want Stella to feel settled. I'd like to kick my feet up on the couch and talk endlessly to a friend with a glass of wine. And though I want these things, I can see that these last few years (as the wheels fell off so to speak), I've slowly been stripped of my every comfort and identity. I no longer have a job. I am not identified by a relationship of years. My address is TBD. No wonder I stay awake wondering what to do. Where do I matter. Who needs me. Am I even needed. What is my worth. Am I making the right decisions. Do I apply for this job or that. Will this feel normal. How do I move on.

My sister said it well in that this is my chance to be creative. To discover more of me. That I'm not identified by the place I work. The career I had. Or the people I dated. Easier said than done, but the seed has been planted. 

I wish I could say that I was totally satisfied. That all of this is one great big happy adventure. Instead, I question God. I yell at Him wondering when enough is enough. And just when I think I've cried every possible tear and I'm left feeling so empty and defeated, I get a Facebook post of encouragement from an old friend speaking to me of God's grace and favor. And then I get a card in the mail of bunnies and rainbows. Not that it fixed every problem, but it did remind me that at the end of my rope, I find the faithful friends that will pull a hamstring trying to do the splits in the air for my support. I don't have to live at the end.

This plan isn't my own. And though pieces of it are far better than I can imagine, there is a sadness wishing for what was. And my nagging and longing for the sense of home.