I have this smile on my face that’s become all that I am…
How long has it been? For how long now have I waited for this move forward? For this final change of scenery that only my soul can see.
Ten years? Maybe more?
All I know is that I am moving to my soul’s home, and it feels so right.
I’m sitting here with packing boxes piled way high everywhere I look.
Some half empty, waiting for the vision of a future to become real…While others have momentarily been relinquished to a past that is fast fading…
I should be packing, I tell myself.
Packing and getting myself ready for the moving day that is fast approaching.
But then there are words.
Words that will not leave me alone. Words that are dancing in my head, trying their best to express those inner feelings.
I’m moving home; I keep telling myself. I am moving North.
It’s really happening!
So when did it all start?
When did this overpowering insistence become such an omnipresence in my life?
Was it the day when I finally left the city to move to a somewhat smaller town that the dream started to take shape?
Was it when I moved again, further north, that I realized that it could all become a reality?
Or was it that weekend, when I decided to push the boundaries of my dream and decided to go north, real north…Only to then realize that yes, I could touch the sky if I did?
I don’t know when it happened or when it became the shadow of my everyday life…
All I know is that it did.
It took on a life of its own and attached itself to the deepest resets of my soul.
That urge. That recurring persistence of a wish has now become my every moment.
I’m like a child on Christmas morning, in awe at the possibilities.
I’m going home, I keep telling myself.
I’m going home.
So, as I sit here, tired, my body hurting from all packing and moving…
I look back on these past years and know that it’s time.
Time to take a deep breath and learn anew.
Time to look at life from a different angle and welcome a rewed sense of accomplishment.
Time to touch the sky.