Last night, Jason and I were talking about moving.
We've been talking about moving since 2005, I think. At first we talked about moving to a different house in our same town. Since then, we've talked about moving to different towns and different states. Most of the talking has been wishful thinking, but every now and then we think seriously about such things.
Last night was one of those nights, I guess. We went through the lists of "what-ifs". I don't know if either one of us is completely sold on the idea, for a whole lot of reasons (mine primarily being that the thought of putting my house up for sale is just so freaking exhausting), but it's something I'd probably consider in a few years, especially now that my job gives me the ability to work from home and doesn't really care where "home" is.
We were talking about North Carolina, which has a lot of pros and a couple of very huge cons. I said to Jason something like, "We have history there, which is good. That's where we met and where we got married". He said, "You just miss your Santa Fe, don't you?" and I? Well, I burst into tears.
I wasn't crying about the Santa Fe, though. I loved that car, true, but I love the new one too and someday (many years from now) I'll probably be lamenting the fact that I drove that one into the ground too. A car is just a car.
I was crying because I miss my dad. I miss my mom. I miss my brother. I barely even know his wife. I miss my sister and her small herd of children. When I went to visit last month and my nieces had something funny or cute in their tiny little hands, my sister would say, "Why don't you show Aunt Steph?" and they would walk unsteadily not to me, but to my brother's wife (and okay, they're actually really smart because her name is also Stephanie). They don't even know me. I adore them and they don't even know who I am. And that? Makes me really fracking sad.
North Carolina never really felt like home to me, though. I had a job, bought a house and married Jason while I lived there. It just never felt quite right.
I don't know if it was the circumstances under which I arrived (basically my dad came, loaded me and my infants up in his van, and drove us there to live so I didn't, you know, fall completely apart). I don't know if it was because I was made to feel very, very unwelcome in places I really wanted to find love and acceptance. It could have been that I honest to God didn't understand what 80% of the people said for the first six months. I'm really not sure. All I know is that I had that "vacation" feeling for the entire six years I was there. Not the fun vacation feeling where someone else is changing your sheets and cooking your food and ensuring that you're having a wonderful time, just the feeling like "I won't be here forever" or "this is all different to me".
I don't know how to explain it. Hell, I don't even know why I cried.
I just know I sometimes feel really lonely. And I don't even know what I'm looking for.