My Crazy Quartette

This week, with my family together at the cabin sans moi, a ting of jealousy lodged itself in my gut, making clear its intentions with flashes of crackling fireside laughter- blinding reminders of stories being shared, unadvised upon by a crucial member of the family five-some. This harbored jealousy festered itself in my thoughts- complete with the false aroma of a nearby chef at work in his element, the forged warmth of sunlight taking the windows by ransom each afternoon- beaming down through mossy, budding branches- the dinner discussions lasting long after last-bite, and the ring of coffee grinding faintly in the background of dreams as we lie waking in the loft. These are the times to which I feel we are most a family, sharing food-made with love, and wine- the lessons of its breadth an essential element to every proper cabin evening. These are the times I cherish, the times I believe contributed to who I am as an individual on such a truly massive scale.

Although I love my family dearly, as we all do, I've never been one to feel that intense anxiety some do while wandering the world, far away from the tangible comforts to which we become so dependently accustomed. Recalling as far back as my memory allows, I've craved independence- the chance to meet new people from different places, whose lives are complied of layer upon layer of experiences I've never known. It fascinates me immensely- where people come from, where they wish they were, where they hope to go- where they ultimately land. Terrifyingly exciting the direction our lives take us- so totally unpredictable, so utterly out of our control.

Maybe the fear outweighs the benefit of such experiences in the minds of some- maybe when they say they don't care to travel, care to move away, care to create something for themselves in thus undiscovered territory, well, maybe they mean it. For me, there was never any other option. I had to go- a desire fueled by a fearful knowledge I'd enjoy my life there all too much, and that I'd never again encounter the opportunity, nor the courage, to make the move my heart told me I'd never forgive myself if I left simmering, ignored.

So, although thoughts of familial belly laughter, too-loud-for-the-woods Shakira pulsing through knotty pine, and the waft of sizzling saucepans afire upon the stove make my heart a little droopy and my smile slightly bitter, truly I'm just grateful I have a family such as mine to miss at all- a crazy quartette of characters, who continually encourage and support my every whim,
and I theirs.