I spent a good portion of my 20s being embarrassed by my life.
Financial picture = lopsided and grainy.
Body image = in the toilet.
Mr True Love = absent, Bueller-style.
And then there was the matter of my home...
The question of where to live has generated almost a decade's worth of challenges and frustrating conversations. (Tropical beaches or crisp mountain air - I want them both, simultaneously.)
In response to my home-uncertainty, I became a bit of a gypsy. I moved every 6 months (sometimes, more often). The transiency of my gypsy lifestyle brought soul friends, joyful work, good food, a new love, and a camera roll that makes me sigh deeply and smile widely. Many, many blessings.
It's also been a major pain in my ass.
I've wanted a solid answer to the question "Where is my permanent home?" and for not having one, I felt like a bumbling idiot.