You can wander, and wonder, and end up right back at the start
It may take a month, or a year, or a lifetime to know,
You may think you've arrived, and you realize, it's time to go..."
-Tim Grimm
On a recent Saturday night, I found myself driving down a lonely stretch of country road, heading out to a friend's party barn. The darkness pressed in on all sides, and I slowed down, as much to avoid hitting any suicidal deer as to enjoy the balmy night. I turned down the radio to better hear the crickets, and I absently marveled at how insanely my life has changed. 2 years ago, I would have been driving down a populated California road, passing a few palm trees lit up by the brutal sun, finding a way to avoid all the many people I disliked and distrusted. Now...well, I was driving to a party barn, for chrissakes.
A couple of months ago, my one-year Indianaversary flew past. I was too caught up in moving establishments to really note or celebrate it in any way, but it was--and is--on my mind, how that year has passed. How I settled in and adapted. How I've made this my life, on my terms. How little I missed California, then or now. How much I love it here. How I still feel like seasons, and how rapidly yet predictably they shift, are a kind of magic. How I feel at home here in a way that I've never felt anywhere else, and how the simple beauty of a green field calms me in a way very few other things can. How I pass by old barns and forests and think about my grandfather growing up, and wondering what his life was like. How I drive through Indy and fall a little more in love with it each time I go. How I enjoy the kind company of my colleagues and the undemanding trust of my boss. How lucky I've been, and how lucky I continue to be, with most of the people I've met and the friends I've made. How right it feels to be here, and how peaceful I feel, just driving down a country road.
Is this my forever home, here in Bloomington? I know enough of the nature of life now to know not to count on anything, or assume something is set in stone. I love it for now. I love Indiana forever. I don't know what's going to happen past the next year or two, but for now, this is good enough for me. This is home.
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