My heart is in two places

roadtripping thoughts on home

My heart is in two places. It is August. It is the end of August. My body is in Michigan. I’m not to sure where my heart is. We drove out to Michigan from Vermont just about a week ago in two days, and I felt like I left little pieces of myself on the road here. For the first few miles I cried and cried. At the beauty around me. The loss. The fear. Was this really what I want?

I’ll back up a little. My life in Vermont was fine. I had my running friends who became real friends. My work was fine. Nothing wildly exciting or incredibly meaningful , but I enjoyed my coworkers and got to make tasty food for others and mostly work when I wanted. On my own schedule. I saw beauty by just looking out my window or running up the road or driving a half hour in any direction. The mountains, the rivers, the covered bridges, the trees, the birds.

Michael was not happy with his job. He was bored, not challenged at all with things. In three years hadn’t really made friends, although in the last month we were there suddenly he did. So he found a new job. But it was in Michigan and not Vermont. He had the condo in Michigan. It was paid for. The expenses would be lower. It would give us a place to figure things out. Figure what out? What’s next, the next obvious thing. There is always a next. Always a thing. I wondered if we were running away or running towards. But it didn’t feel like running at all. It felt like settling. I think that’s what it is. I never settle. I need to feel pulled to something. It’s not always the right thing, but in the moment it IS the right thing. Until it isn’t. Until something happens that clearly feels like the wrong thing.

Packing the car. Selling our belongings. Leaving someplace that has been home for three years. It was hard. Looking at the things that people gave me when we arrived. A pan, some dishes, silverware, a wall hanging. All parts of others that became parts of our life here and now would be part of someone else’s life.

On the day we left it was a beautiful summer day, but we weren’t really leaving yet. Delaying things by visiting friends 2 hours south, but still in Vermont. At one of my favorite places. With 2 of my favorite people. Pulling into the driveway, the prayer flags hang and sway in the breeze as the driveway curves and the house and garden slowly appear. I always find that I can breathe just a bit easier when I get here. It is August so the garden is in full glory. The tomatoes and bright red and orange, the greens are so green, the apple tree is bursting with small but lovely apples. And the flowers are blooming so brightly and the bees jump from blossom to petal and back, knowing that they also are welcome here. Getting out of the cars and hugging my friends I realize how lucky I am to have this place and these people. THIS feels like home. What is it about a place that can feel so like home but yet it is not mine?

my friend’s driveway

We have a lovely breakfast the next morning after I come back from a 4 hour run on the roads that I love so much. The hills. The rivers. The birds. It is all there for me to soak in. The final miles I listen to some of favorite Vermont music and let the tears flow. We have a wonderful day and a delicious dinner. I don’t sleep very well that night but I always do here. I know my mind is just too wound up and my heart feels heavy yet racing.

The next morning we get in one car and leave one behind as we take the trip further south for a few days to see my mama before we head west. So it is not a full goodbye yet thankfully. We will be back in a few days to pick up the other car and head out.

Driving to NY is always an adventure. It does not seem to matter the day, the time of day, the season. But there are always too many people. Too many cars. Too much noise. We arrive at my mama’s house and although this had been my home for 20 years, it no longer feels like my home. I mean, I guess in a way it does. It feels familiar. But my heart and soul are no longer here. But my mama is.

It is not a big house but now that she is alone in the house it seems like so much. So many rooms and things and memories that she lives in each day. I don’t know if I would want that. But that is not my choice. I worry that it is all becoming too much for her as well. For a young person a house is a lot to care for and tend to, and as she is not young anymore it can be overwhelming.

We spend time with my brother, my cousin and mom. I go on runs in the neighborhood that holds so many other memories for me. None of them involved running. And then we take off, back to Vermont. As we hug mom goodbye I feel a tinge of sadness, but I’m unsure why. Maybe just the passing of time. None of us are getting younger, but seeing my mom standing alone by the front door it really hits me I guess.

There is the usual traffic leaving NY but when we arrive back in Vermont it all seems to melt away. We spend time repacking and organizing the cars for the departure tomorrow. I’m feeling sadder and my friend sees that and reminds me it is a new adventure. Yet for me it feels like an adventure we did already. So is that still a new adventure? Although I guess since we are new people and it is a new time it can be a new adventure. I realize that in the last 25 years I have lived in Vermont 5 different times. So maybe this is just a “see you later” adventure.

That night we have another wonderful dinner. Straight from the garden to the plate. My friends are amazing farmers and gardeners and everything we eat in this magical place just tastes better. Once again I don’t sleep well. My mind is full and my heart is heavy. The next morning after eating a bowl of my friend’s homemade granola, we head out to the cars. I hug my friends so hard and the tears really flow. Driving away from the house I am still teary and just trying to absorb as much of the beauty and love as I can.

seen on my run in Vermont

After a half hour of Vermont we are already in New York and heading west on the thruway. The weather changes every hour or so, from sunshine to clouds to pouring rain. Stopping at rest areas, stretching our legs and getting Starbucks makes the first day (and 400 miles) fly by. We stop for the night in Erie PA and get a hotel a half mile from the casino, with children running back and forth across the floor above us. After a dinner from Wegmans grocery of an uninspired Caesar salad and flavorless Mac and cheese (I didn’t think there could be such a thing), we get some sleep before the 500 miles we have to drive tomorrow.

The “breakfast buffet” opens at 6 am and we are there along with a surprising amount of other folks. Mostly older couples, or singles, and a smattering of kids. (I think we spot the upstairs culprit.) There is something so fun about a "breakfast buffet” at a chain hotel. This one does not disappoint with the variety. I always need to try as many items as I can, and am usually disappointed, but it’s to be expected. I go for instant oatmeal and a waffle to start, while Michael is more adventurous and tries the scrambled “eggs” , a sausage and some French toast. Mine is very unsatisfying so I hit the Raisin Bran, always a safe bet and then I grab a few muffins, bananas, yogurt and a “bagel” for the road.

In a half hour we are already in Ohio, and I am ready for my first Starbucks. The weather today is a bit sunnier, and no rain yet. We stop along the interstate and hit up the rest area. Sadly the Starbucks is closed “Tuesday only” and of course it is Tuesday. We soldier on and I don’t remember if we stopped elsewhere but suddenly we cross the state line and we are in “Pure Michigan.” This does not at all mean we are almost to our destination.

For those unfamiliar with midwest geography, Michigan is a very long state with water on three sides and to get from bottom to top is at least 4 hours and about 300 miles. So we still have more than halfway to go. We stop in Ypsilanti and I finally get my Starbucks along with a bag of spicy pickle potato chips. Michael gets a “mystery meat sandwich” at a Jersey Mikes (ok it was roast beef but really hard for me to tell the difference.) We get back onto I-75 and begin the looooong drive north.

The bonus of the long drive and the lack of scenery is the 75 mph speed limit. I try not to keep comparing the monotony of I-75 to the beauty of driving on I-89 or I-91 in Vermont, which seems to have a mountain or river around each curve. But it is really hard not to. I remind myself to stay present and enjoy the journey but to be honest I was really struggling. So many cars and so little trees and no mountains.

In a few hours we are finally at a somewhat scenic section of the road, and there are less cars. I feel myself breathing a little more freely and enjoying the view. We reach our exit and then it changes all over again. We are deposited from the highway onto a stretch of road with seemingly endless fast food places, gas stations, dollar stores. And suddenly I am sad again. We are about an hour from our destination now. There are a few hills and a few trees on the long straight stretch of road we take out of the fast food town. Another tidbit of midwest geography is that the roads tend to be straight and not curving the way Vermont roads are. The main reason is that there are no mountains to go around, so there is no need for it. Yet somehow even though it is a more direct route than having to go around a mountain, it feels longer driving this way.

We finally hit the main drag in Traverse City and see the sparkling blue of Lake Michigan. We drive along noticing all the new hotels and all the traffic that we haven’t seen for a few years. We almost miss the turn into our neighborhood, as everything looks so different. We pull into the parking lot of our condo complex and for a second it feels like home. It looks the same. Same brick building, a few balconies with flowers and outdoor furniture, and some like ours with nothing at all on the balcony. Even though we were back here last year for a quick visit it feels like it has been years, not months since we have been here. I guess that is what happens when your heart starts to love something new. We head up the stairs and open the door. Our furniture is all the same, and the apartment is cleaner than we left it. We wander from room to room, (although there are only 4 of them) and I am hoping to feel more at home. I am not sure what I feel. It’s not home, but it’s not new. It’s kind of a limbo between two worlds. We head back down to the cars and spend the next hour or two unloading and trying to make some sense of things. And I am trying to let my heart open up and be grateful for the adventure.

Lake Michigan (the bay)

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