I am pondering the passage of time. One year has passed since we left Provo, Utah. We spent four happy years there. I never thought I would love it there. I thought it would be like it's name. Boring. Instead it was a place that eased the role of becoming a mother. A place that was slow and easygoing. A place where everything was accessible. A place where I could find my kind of people, whichever they might be. A place where I could buy cheap, brightly colored tablecloths for my dining room table. A place where people would forgive my lack of interest in interior design. A place where I grew. A place where I learned I never wanted to be a landlord again. A place where I graduated from college. A place where I began to feel old. A place where I went on at least 200 dates with my husband. A place where I was grateful to be married. A place where I got lazy. A place where I thought I lived the good life.
Now I'm somewhere else. I'm bouncing around this massive city trying to find my place. As I watch the feathery clouds race by at night I can feel the tension. My life will take off, or has it already and I just haven't realized it. Why do I dream and aspire to so much? Too much. Too much that failure is always present. I wasn't made to aim low just to reach my goal. What is my goal? What are they?
Presently I hear a voice saying, "I'm waiting, I'm waiting, I'm waiting Mommy. I'm waiting for you to come and play with me," as he moves his wooden train along it's tracks with his round head tilted downward. Gotta go!