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Logan is the second longest place I have lived in my life. Ogden is the first, eight years. This is the longest place I have ever lived, eight years. It sounds like such a long yet short time. Recently I went down to Ogden to do some Christmas shopping (E was with her mom for the weekend and R was in New York), before telling anyone I was there I decided to drive around my old neighborhood. I had never taken the time, by myself, to see the places where ninety five percent of my childhood memories exist.

Third house down ... mine. 

I couldn't quite put my feelings together. I had no idea what I was feeling while I was driving around all of my old haunts. I distinctly remember thinking how small everything is, even the streets seem doll house-esque. There was also the contrasting emotions of swelling love yet unquenchable emptiness. I have such a fondness for this small house on Franklin street, but there is nothing left that it holds for me aside from my memories. The only person who I talk to on a consistent basis from this period of my life would be my best friend. We met when we were here ... in the same ward ... her mom brought us together ... we haven't let go of each other since ... a part of me believes that she is my soul mate ... throughout my ever-changing life she has been my only constant ... in that regard I think Heavenly Father knew I needed her ... we knew each other in Heaven ... and we will know each other throughout eternity. Every once in a while I would talk to a couple of others who I knew in elementary school ... I previously considered some of them my best friends as well ... I have moved past that ... another story for another day. 

What was funny about trying to comprehend the feelings experienced in that tiny neighborhood was realizing that I had felt that way before. I needed a piece of paper a couple of days later ... so I grabbed the closest notebook to me ... What you should know about me is that I never write consecutively in a notebook ... I don't have time for that ... I just flip to a page and start writing ... well ... the page I flipped to was one I had written months ago ... I want to share some of it ... 

I have lived my life as a nomad ... for the most part I have loved it ... wandering from place to place ... not really belonging anywhere ... but being free to belong everywhere ... the excitement of always being able to reinvent yourself to be a better more cooler version of you, taking the vast opportunities to perfect who you are. (Before the age of eighteen I moved eight times ... since then I have moved seven times ... I am twenty-four ... my parents weren't military ... nor am I.) But then I watch things like One Tree Hill where the characters describe their home town as magic ... the place they want to be ... the place they were born, raised, and never want to leave ... and somehow manage to find their way back to ... and I realize I don't have that place. What scares me is that I feel too old to create one now. Where ever I go people will only know me for so long ... and so the revolving door of people entering and leaving my life continues. If there is anything that I have learned as I have gotten older is the ability to let go ... I understand that we glean what we need from other people and then we move on ... we learn to feel grateful for them, for the impact they have had in our lives ... but sometimes I wish I wasn't such a nomad. Sometimes I wish I would have gone to high school in the same place all four years instead of dividing it by two ... perhaps even in a town where I had already been to both elementary and middle school ... where I would still be in the lives of people who I have known for longer than a year or two ... maybe there would have been magic there for me too. I started to feel that magic in Hershey ... we only lived there four years ... but ... maybe that is why I love the east so much ... what it represents for me ... the possibilities of magical properties in which a sanctuary can be established. But we left there ... and because family is so important to me ... I will never go back there. Maybe this is why I am resisting children so much ... how will I ever be able to establish roots for a family when I don't even know how to grow them. How do I stay in one place ... how do I force myself to feel magic for my off-springs sake ... how do I save them from feeling the gaping hole that I feel whenever I look at my old groups of friends that come from all over the country ... who most likely don't remember me.

Now ... that was a bit dramatic ... sometimes writing when I am feeling emotional helps me be normal for the outside world ... well ... as normal as I can be. But ... lets be honest ... those are legit feelings ... That is why Christen is so important to me ... everyone else I was ever friends with is out of my life ... aside from those who I am friends with right now where I live ... because of the person I am and the love and care I feel for those around me I would have gone mad if I didn't have my constant ... someone to fall back on when I had to leave everyone else ... I could always say in my head "at least I have Christen" ... that didn't stop the pain of losing friends ... but at least it gave me a soft place to land. 

I think that dramatic monologue also explains the feelings that I felt that December day in Ogden ... I will always love Ogden in some way ... I spent the most amount of time there ... but I would probably have those same feelings towards Hershey ... heck ... even when I am in San Antonio I like to drive around places I used to go  ... but these places ... have nothing for me now (unless I were to move back to any of them ... but even then it would be different).

The phrase is that you can never go home again ... I don't believe that ... My home is with my family ... my husband ... my child ... my parents ... my siblings ... my best friend ... I can always go home to them ... That is one thing that I have had to learn throughout my nomadic living ... home is not a place ... not a town ... it is wherever you are most comfortably your true self ... that ... my friends ... is where the magic really is.