or so my brother replied when I told him today that I don't like moving. And how can that be since I love traveling and experiencing new things...yet tend to utterly dread the process of transitioning from one place to another. Perhaps I'm just more of a country girl than I realized and I really am afraid of the big city.
Perhaps...
Or maybe I'm still trying to catch up on all of the things that have happened over the past three years...and things that haven't changed.
Like how bumpy my parents' backyard is. It's not flat! There's slight hills and little grooves even thought it looks flat.
Like how all of my Buhrman cousins are either married, engaged or soon to be. When did we grow up?
And, seriously, when did we grow up? When did I get into this much debt? How has my brother managed to save more money than I'm in debt for?
How do people my age own houses?
When did people become discontent with their lives and start to complain about everything. What happened to the joy?
How did I accumulate so much stuff? And it's not even valuable or useful stuff but yet it fills up a whole storage shed.
When did I become unable to transform my anxiety into words so that the only way they could escape was through tears?
I always thought the hardest thing I do was to leave and go live overseas. I now believe returning is where the true difficulty begins.
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