I have trouble imagining when and where Mario and I are going settle down. Permanently, I mean. As in, established in our forever jobs (having figured out what those are, exactly), leaving our perfect-for-us home every morning, walking to work with thermos of coffee in hand, permanent. Considering we've lived in nearly every region of the US, and been to all 50 states between the two of us, I should have a better imagination for these things. But, alas.
As a result of this conundrum (of sorts), I often ask myself the following questions: Will I know when I find THE place? Have I already found it in Portland? (All signs point to yes; or somewhere in the Pacific Northwest.) This restless soul yearns to wander, always, and I'm rarely sure where we'll be in five years, let alone in twenty. Fortunately, Husband is open to living almost anywhere and shares my love of exploration. We are made for each other in that regard.
Because I so seldom feel at home, in the sense that I have yet to feel 100% settled anywhere, when I find myself contemplating spending my post-collegiate, post-motherhood career years in a particular town, I tend to take note. I am forever on the hunt for that elusive place that meets all my needs (whatever they are). A place where I can imagine practicing my craft long term (whatever that is). A place that has the potential to look and feel like home.
|My first maple latte in almost a year. (Insert heart-eyes emoji.)|
Burlington, Vermont is one of those places I can picture myself living in long-term. Mario is also smitten with Burlington, which means it keeps its status as The (Potentially) Perfect Place. To be honest, it's a lot like Portland culture-wise, minus about half a million people. The only caveat is New England winters. I've had my fill for a bit, but I (almost) never say never.
I flew in and out of Burlington for my girls weekend, and spent the night there before flying out last Monday. My flight was later in the afternoon, so I spent the morning wandering around Church Street, soaking in the sunshine and mellow vibes. It's easy to feel at peace in Vermont, that's for sure.
Sunday night I had my first Airbnb experience in the form of a tiny house near downtown Burlington. It was a tad out of my comfort zone, the idea of staying in a stranger's backyard while letting myself in and out of the main house to use the bathroom, but I felt a strong call to stay there. The typical hotel experience didn't interest me at all. Perhaps I'm growing wiser and more daring with age.
It was the best experience! The people where super chill and friendly, and I adored the 80 square foot room. It was big enough to comfortably house a queen size bed, night stand, small desk, and a chair. It also served to fuel my obsession with tiny houses. I walked to and from a pho restaurant for dinner, and stayed up late reading The Scarlett Letter with the windows open, to the sound of birds chirping and squirrels pattering across the roof. I even applied my makeup the next morning using my iPhone camera as a mirror. (A previously untapped talent.)
After hours sitting in the terminal and even more time spent cooped up on the runway, my Monday flight was cancelled due to mechanical issues. My first thought was Maybe the tiny house is available for another night! The airline sprung for a room at the Holiday Inn (sad face emoji), but there are worse things than another night in Burlington.
I finally made it home Tuesday afternoon, and spent two days zombified thanks to my lack of ability to adapt to time zone changes. Anyone else have this problem? I mean, really, a three hour time difference threw me completely out of whack. One day last week I fell asleep on the couch while meal planning and woke up covered in cookbooks and grocery lists two hours later feeling like I'd been abducted by aliens. I'm a mess.
And now, it's back to life as usual.