Coming Home

I’ve visited a new place every year since I was 17. After constant movement through flights, bus rides and cross-country road trips, it’s curious to come home and be still.

Every day I drive to an office, sit at a computer I can’t afford and process pieces of information for other people’s lives. I help communities know what to do to get ready for school. I tell them the events happening around town. I show them what arrests were made, what votes were taken in their local government, who achieved business success, who lost a son or daughter in an instant.

I look into their lives, but I will never know them. Every motor vehicle accident or wedding announcement will be another piece of data I edit and process before the day is done.

I have become permanent. I have entered reality, the world they tell you about from the time you are small.

They used to ask: “what do you want to be when you grow up?” I wanted to be good. I wanted to be kind. I wanted to be loved and admired.

These days, I  want to be brave.

I don’t want to be fearless. I think fear is healthy and necessary for evolution. I want to do things even when they scare me. I want to do things because they scare me.  Although I have a phobia of falling, I want to jump off the edge of the world.

I don’t intend to stop traveling, writing or quoting inspirational cliches. But I am content to be in Austin.

Adult life. It’s pretty good. I am grateful, and I know I have been given more than I need. I intend to leave something in return, even if it’s a few words on a page.

Thanks for reading.