I can’t explain it entirely, but I feel different. My clothes are still in and out of my suitcase, I still have trouble pulling myself out of bed in the mornings, my car is still making some funny sounds, but I feel at home.
It’s been almost a year since I have painted the walls in my room green and moved all of my belongings to this apartment, and now with that year under me and my license plate reading, “Pennsylvania,” I feel at home.
My soul does not ache deeply each time I throw my toiletries into my bag and run out the door (though the past two times, I’ve forgotten my toothbrush!). I know to build in a morning to take slow the day after I return from a trip (sleeping in, laundry, and tea). My roommate and I have instituted evening “story time” before we part ways for the night (my roommate is the next J.K. Rowling). There’s a rhythm. There’s a hint of structure in the chaos.
Here comes Mobilization Year Two and I’m pretty sure I’m ready for it.