Eleven Years

Know what? I little more than eleven years ago I arrived at my current destination. It's the longest I've ever lived anywhere--as an adult. Actually, it's the longest I've ever lived anywhere consecutively. Ever. I own my condo. I just refinanced my condo (look at me, being an adult). I refinanced from a 30-year loan to a 15, because if I can get this thing paid off before I retire, awesome.

The last eleven years have been interesting. In some ways, I feel like not much has changed. In others, it feels like everything has changed. I'm older. Duh. I may be wiser. I'm not as anxious. I moved up into a management-type position. A management-type position it turns out I am really good at. I have a solid group of people and friends in my life. I'm settled. Like, seriously, settled.

Since I was in college, I decided that wherever I was living was home. I could go back to my mom's or my dad's or wherever, but, really, where I was living was home. Thing is, that home kept changing.

Generally, I'd move every two or three years. When I worked at Ye Olde University, I stayed for 4.5 years. At that point, that is the longest I'd lived in one place as an adult. Then I moved to the Pacifical Northwest. A few years ago, I had flown back to the Midwest for something. I don't remember if I was in Iowa or Missouri or Wisconsin, but I was waiting for my return flight when I remember thinking, "I'm ready to go home." But this time "home" didn't just mean where I lived. Home meant where I belonged.

This town, this region? This is home. It's a nice feeling. I settled in, I put down some roots, I have a place and people. I'm not really sure I was every truly looking for that, mainly because it took some time for me to realize I'd found it.

But here I am. I'm 49 going on 50, and I've finally found my place and my people.

It's a pretty great feeling.