The conversation had been floating in the ether for some time but the reality of it existed in some other parallel space unconnected to our daily lives. A small but persistent voice that would orbit around and try and establish some sure and level purchase. And then we started talking about raising chickens and having a garden the size of an overpriced San Francisco flat. And we talked about goats and making our own cheese. We talked about responsibility and hard work and dreams as big and wide as the Kansas sky. We talked about seasons and snow and weekends at the lake. We talked about being closer to family and closer to the pulse of the country- though many would argue with me that the pulse exists solely on the periphery. And then too, he started growing. The Angry Giant had the audacity to try and become a functioning baby (on his way to little person) in his own right without regard to his father and I.
The longing for this other life began to overshadow our existence in the life we occupied. A life we truly and deeply and passionately lived and were present and full in. But things were missing. Nostalgia can be deceptive and both the husband and I realized this. Regardless, this fierce current was propelling us east. We wanted room to grow and explore and get dirty. We wanted to raise our son in the open air with room to run so far and so fast that the sheer size of the world would make him and us, dizzy. Suddenly the city became too small to contain all that we had verbalized, thought and willed.
We bought lots of boxes that weekend and started to pack. We called our family and told them we were coming home.