rudderless

I am restless by nature. Always have been.

Itchy for change.

I've turned to others over the years for insight and heard explanations: How growing up in a small town afforded me with a stability to try new things. Another friend - with a penchant for astrology, and cocaine - claimed it's because I'm a Sagittarius. She'd make offers to do my chart, between swigs of tequila and picking bar fights. But we never did get around to it.

(I don't remember her sign, but she was one flaky cokehead. I bet you're surprised.)

I feel like I've been treading water for the past six months, waiting for our house to sell. I've shed a lot of tears saying goodbye just to land right here - the first day of the year, the first day since we took our house off the market - and all those plans I made have evaporated, leaving me adrift.

Every time I have tried to write this post, I can't help but sound like one big Aha! moment. I can hardly bear being That Girl on the couch, describing suburban malaise and how she lost herself and how she didn't expect to be where she is today. The stereotypical everywoman on afternoon TV, because I am grateful. I'm blessed in many ways.

I just know I am supposed to be doing something, something more with these days marked with boredom that writing the typical resolutions won't mend for me.

So I trust that it will take some action, getting my hands dirty and moving my feet to find my way again.

I hope you'll be along for the ride.