Sometimes where you are is not where you want to be. Your memories of the place you used to live are brighter than reality. Brighter because you only remember the sunrises and sunsets.

Brighter because there’s a boardwalk, a statue, a patio that hold a piece of your life - a piece that made you who you are.

 

Sometimes where you are is not where you want to be. You’re mad at the things you see because they don’t offer up memories. You want to punish the place you are. You want to keep your life between you and the place you love. You don’t want to allow this new place to own a piece of you, because somehow it wronged you by being a stranger.

Sometimes where you are is not where you want to be, but you try to see the beauty around you. You breathe the fresh, spring air. You find a green path on which to ride, and you trust that the path will lead you to new experiences. You will make new memories.

You begin to open up. You look at the things you brought with you and you call this place “home.”

Sometimes where you are is not where you want to be, but then you remember that where you are is not as important as who you’re with. You think about the sunrise – really think, and remember that you saw it alone. You walked the boardwalk and ate beneath the statue alone. Most often, you sat on the patio alone.

Sometimes where you are is not where you want to be, but you find that it’s where you belong.