Measured in Leaps

This time of year I start revealing things to myself. Things like how I am ready to begin a new relationship or how I need to make home for myself. 

I need more bubble baths and less showers. 

I need aromatherapy candles and cinnamon in my cupboard. I need to boil nutmeg, cloves, and cinnamon this Thanksgiving to remind me of my childhood Thanksgivings. 

I need more hugs and kisses and less inanimate objects that stare back at me coldly. I need more discovery and less surprises. Does that make sense?

I wanted roasted pears last night because they remind me of holidays spent with loved ones who smile warmly and share vintage stories that make me laugh and cry simultaneously. I didn't make them because the whole balsamic thing scares me (I'm not good at reducing, ha). Instead, I dug through icky, sticky taffy candy left from the Halloween party. Candy for dinner? It ain't home. 

Last night I wanted home: roasted pears; cheddar mashed potatoes; Jean Nate shower gel, bubble gum scented bubble bath oil; the pretty scented sachet my mother puts on my pillows in the morning whenever I visit; my pink barrettes. 

Last night, I wanted a lot. I got candy and makeup remover. Fuck! Why can't I make roasted pears?

A professor once said to me: "The desires of life are measured in leaps."

I now know what he means (and why he left out the bounds parts). Sometimes you want to be far away from the comfort of home, because you think you're suffocating; you're becoming those people. When I finally freed myself, I realized that without that comfort, my life is measured in leaps -- from one stage to another, and all the while craving what I left behind.

The key is creation. I must create home for me. A new home. And I'm starting by learning.