There are a lot of things I could write about, especially in the whole moving, coming home, leaving people category.  I miss Fishers.  There, I said it.  I miss that place something fierce.  I miss my people and I miss my church and I miss my job and the little people that I got to hang out with and their families I came to love.  I miss my house (yes, I’m vain enough to really miss it).  I miss my neighbors and the bus stop and the school my kids attended.  I miss their amazing teachers and office staff and the fact that I could walk in and laugh or cry and it was all ok.  No one looked at me like I was crazy.  I miss the ladies that would come to my house every Wednesday for small group and we would share our lives and grow and learn and pray and love each other.  I just miss it.  But I don’t want to get on here and whine about how much I miss Fishers every time I write.  As my very wise friend says, “it’s ok to feel it but don’t pitch a tent and camp there.”

To be honest, I’ve been “planning” on starting this blog for over a year but I didn’t know what to call it, so it was easy to put it off.  I thought maybe people would think I’m silly for writing and who really cares what I have to say.  Or what if I’m judged because of my grammar mistakes?  (Because I know the difference between the “theres” and the “too’s” but sometimes its just a typo…and I start sentences all wrong and write run ons and can overuse and the exclamation mark or comma with the best of them.)  Well, here’s the part where I say who cares!  Because if I was worried about what everyone thought of me, all the time, I’d be buried.  (And trust me, most days I’m neck deep.)

Isn’t that what getting older and learning is about?  Learning to let it all go and actually like yourself?  It’s a work in progress.  It’s not an easy road and when you add on moving to a new city (because I don’t live in the same Phoenix I grew up in) and new everything, it’s even worse.  What if those moms don’t like me?  I don’t drive the same type of car and I don’t wear the same kind of clothes and I certainly wouldn’t be able to share clothes with them (maybe my left thigh would fit).  It’s so hard, this life.  It’s harder than I’d like to admit and I thought by my late 30’s it would get easier, like I would have it “figured out” and I would have some kind of routine or stability but its’ that hilarious!  God has such a sense of humor!!!

The definition of transplant is “to move or transfer (something) to another place or situation, typically with some effort or upheaval.”  So, this is really a life long thing because we are always moving and learning and changing and it always takes effort and sometimes it is a total upheaval.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, get ready!  I will probably ramble (much like tonight) and try to be funny and try not to cry and try to just breathe.  This whole transplanting back home thing will probably take on a life of it’s own.  So…here’s to the adventure and the upheaval!