feel like talking

It's after midnight and I'm listening to Barns Courtney over and over because it's just that kind of night. Sometimes I feel this blog is useless and why do I even bother because I don't help anyone like Rachel Hollis does. I can't tell you how to take care of four kids while running your own business and keeping your husband happy. I'm not a chef; I can't tell you how to bake the absolutely most mouth-watering chocolate cake in the universe that your great-great-grandchildren will talking about long after you're dead. I'm not a grammarian; I can't tell you the difference between lie and lay in a sentence or do you use who or whom. I always have to look it up. I'm not a Real Wife of Tampa; I have no dirty laundry to air on national TV or the internet.

All I do is talk about nothing in particular. Does this mean I lead a boring, uninspired life? Does this mean I live in an ongoing Seinfeld episode? I know I'm not a wired go-getter who loves to juggle several important projects in a fast-paced work environment. (That's what every company wants in job ads.) One day there will be a job advertisement that will say something along the lines of -- Wanted: Laid-back Baby Boomer who loves to chill while being creative in a fun, contemplative environment. Peace out, man. 

Don't roll your eyes. It could happen. The experts/researchers say creativity happens in a person's quiet moments, kind of like a meditation. I used to have a lot of those kind of quiet moments. My new search is to find that life again. And it may be that the way forward is to go back to my roots in the Pacific Northwest. I keep moving around in the Tampa area, trying to find "home" but I just can't find a place where I feel comfortable and settled. It could also be that I'm a wanderer at heart; I just haven't wandered far.

I have two sisters and a brother in different parts of North America who have lived in the same houses and been married to the same people for 30+ years. How does someone do that? It's beyond my understanding of life. I can't even imagine such rootedness. I once counted all the homes I have lived in since I was born (that I could remember); I figure it's at least 32 different houses and apartments . . . and I'm about to move again. 

I guess I'm just a wanderer in body and soul. Maybe this explains why I'm not writing a blog for the millions . . . or maybe not.