Her feet turned inward, and she pushed up on her toes as she locked eyes with me.
“Do you feel it?”
“Feel what, Grandma?”
“Feel that rush, that push, to get in the car and drive without a plan, to do something new. That… wanderlust.”
“Wanderlust?”
“Adventure. Do you feel it?”
“Yes.”
Almost a year ago, now, that that conversation took place. This morning, laying in bed and contemplating my day (read: my life), the feelings of that moment rushed forcefully against the early ribbons of sunlight. In that year-ago moment, I understood that our spirits were knit together with family and love, and same-ness.
Because there are moments now, when I believe that I might settle down.
Moments that I almost believe that I can see 10 years into the future, to see children growing and changing and becoming almost-adults. To be in a house, the kind you don’t rent, and know my neighbors and not get a new drivers license every 15 months.
In those moments, I wonder if becoming a grown up has to come hand in hand with changing who you are.
Because the girl I truly am? She wants adventure, and barefeet, and the unknown unfolding in bright colors and loud music and the open road.
That’s me.
And then I remember months ago, when my Grandmother pressed one lived-in finger to her lips, and posed this question to me:
“Do you feel it?”
We grow, we become more fully ourselves, but even at eighty-something, maybe we don’t change.
Thank goodness. (thank goodness). (thank You).
Not all those who wander are lost. J. R. R. Tolkien.
Live Color Fully 
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