Welcome Back Home from Home
I just got back to Portland yesterday. After I cussed the cold rain, loved the cold rain, ordered a soy vanilla latte, took the bus to a hooping class, ate one killer burger, cussed the rain again, took a bath and loved the rain again, met a dear friend at a cool little English pub and shared a glass of warm mead, walked to a different coffee shop where I asked a bunch of questions about the espresso beans I realized I couldn’t move back to my hometown.
At least not yet, maybe ever (but never say never right?).
My mother always knew I would be out of the house as soon as I finished high school. She has said countless times that I had wheels on my butt. My need for adventure and life has always been ready to burst out of me and erupt as soon as it got the chance.
But at times I catch myself wondering if I could move back. Could I flow with the rhythm of my hometown? Would I remember how to move to the music that I grew up with. I heard once that
home is a funny thing. You go back home and everything looks the same, but it’s not the same. You realize that you are the one who changed.
I talked and talked about hooping while I was there. Everyone wanted to know how the business was doing and what my next adventures were going to be. My brain is jammed full of ideas and thoughts about hooping that if you ask me about it, I’ll push you over with my excitement and passion. Sometimes it inspires people and sometimes it really annoys them.
But I’m beyond amazed and grateful for having found hooping. Maybe I would have never found if my need for adventure was different. But I’m pretty sure those wheels on my butt brought me to hooping.
Where have your wheels taken you?