I’m back.

Sort of.

Things have been changing around here.

I’m feeling restless again. That seems to be a thing that happens to me at the beginning of every year now. Last year I was feeling restless with my job, but this year I’m feeling restless with my living situation.

It’s not that I don’t feel like I’m welcome at home–I know my parents love to have me around. But I’ve been feeling like I’m not giving them enough space to just be them.

My dad had a knee replacement last week and has only been home a few days. He’s way ahead of schedule with his recovery and I feel like I’m in the way. I’ve never been comfortable with “sick” people and hospitals and I’ve been forced to deal with both more than ever this past week. But is it wrong of me to say that I’m disappointed his recovery is going so smoothly and quickly? There’s a part of me that wants a better story to tell. Then the other part of me incessantly reminds me that he’s a person, too, and doesn’t deserve that kind of hardship.

We got back from our annual trek to Hawaii 5 days before my dad’s surgery. Because of his level of discomfort, we had to change our expectations for the trip. We did a lot less walking and a lot more laying around. I could get on board with that, but it took some time to get used to. I was looking forward to walking into town everyday and taking a beach walk at least once a day and swimming in the lagoon and ocean and maybe even trying out the brand new fitness center. Instead, we walked into town on an average of 3 times a week. We did a beach walk about twice a week. We swam about once a week. And we never used the fitness center. We were there for 3 weeks.

Now, I know that I could have gone off and done all of that on my own. And I probably would have enjoyed it. But my anxiety ramps up to a crazy level when I think about doing things on my own. If I had a friend along, without a doubt, we would have gone off and done things on our own. I just can’t handle being completely alone in a place like that.

My last friend who lives at home is starting to talk about moving out. She’s shared a room with one of her sisters most of her life and that sister is about to graduate from college and possibly move back home. My friend would kind of like to have her own place before that becomes a reality. I had always imagined us sharing a first place, but that feels like a big step that I’m not ready for yet.

On the other hand, I think my relationships with my parents would only improve with a little distance.

But they just redid my bathroom…I just figured out how to make my bedroom mine…I can’t leave Cocoa and Charlie…I don’t want to cook in some dinky little kitchen…I don’t want to have to pay for my own groceries and utilities and cable and cell phone and insurance…I still want to be able to be as present as ever in my niece and nephew’s lives…I want to be able to walk out the door and go for a long walk through my own private paradise…This is and always will be my home…

But how long is too long?

How scary is scary enough?

When I think about it long enough, I realize that there are going to be enough changes in my life this year. I don’t think I need to overdo it and completely overwhelm myself with the prospect of moving out, too. I think the more realistic thing is to find one thing that can be just mine. One thing that I can do by myself and for myself that is outside of this house. That alone is an intimidating proposition. And I think that might be enough of a catalyst.

I need to start creating a life for myself outside of this house.


I’ll keep you updated.

Can it at least be February now?! I want to move on from January!

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