Some things never change ... but do I really want them to?

My sister-in-law moved last year.  She needed a change.  A new start.  So she picked her place and she packed up her kids, and she moved.  To a totally new place.  Yes, she has a cousin nearby.  But other than that – new town, new school, new job, new friends, new routine.  All new.  But she found her happy place, and I couldn't be more happy for her.

I find that move alternately fantastic and terrifying.

In a few months, my other sister-in-law is relocating too.  Hundreds of miles away.  It’s a good thing.  She’s happier than I have ever seen her.  But still.  Just packing up and moving to a brand new place.  New job, new schools, new friends, new life.  Scary.  And thrilling.

I can’t imagine packing up everything and moving to a new place hundreds of miles away.  Starting over.  Leaving family and friends behind.  It scares the shit out of me. 

Yet at the same time, I would love to do it.  Just once. Maybe.

When I was pregnant, the possibility arose that POF might have to relocate to Austin for his job.  We could have done that.  Could have moved.  Started over.  New everything.

But I couldn't.  Because I can’t leave this place.  I am tied here by family and friends.  Things I don’t want to leave.  Can’t leave.  At least not yet. 

Sometimes, like this morning, I think about it.  I imagine what it would have been like, to pack up and move to Austin.  I imagine what our lives might be like now.  Would we be better off financially, or struggling in a strange place on our own?  Would the kid love school as much as he does now, or would he hate it? What kind of job would I have? Would we have made new friends? How often would we come back here to visit, or would friends/family come visit us?

But then I think about all the other things that keep me here.  Wanting my kid to have his grandparents close by.  My friends close by. My whole life, my grandparents’ house was the one constant, my security, my safe place.  I want that for my kid.  For his kids.

I am in a constant state of conflict. About so many things.  Wanting to be carefree and able to pack up and move, yet feeling rooted and stuck to this place.  Wanting to have adventures, yet being terrified of the unknown. Wanting to be the girl who can go out on a moment’s notice, to somewhere unfamiliar, and be comfortable in a crowd, make friends easily, enjoy myself. But knowing that if I could be convinced to go, I would be hiding in a corner, avoiding eye contact and conversation, counting the minutes till I could escape.

I stop writing.  Re-read what I have written above.  And suddenly, there are tears. I’m not sure what they are for. Am I crying because I feel sad for that girl that longs to be free and fun-loving and social but just … can’t?  I don’t think so. I know who I am.  Most of the time I am comfortable with it.  So why the tears?  I’m not sure.

Maybe for the dream version of me. For what could have been.  Or might have been.  Or never will be.  For that adventure into a new place, leaving everything I know behind.  For the part of me that wants it.  For the part of me that is terrified by the thought of it.  For the part of me that knows it will probably never happen.

I will always be here.  Stuck.  Rooted.  The same.

Safe. Comfortable. Home.