Grass

I hate to make this my first entry but something has got to change. My father told me earlier this week that I’ve always thought the grass was greener anywhere but here.
He mentioned it started ever since we lived in North Reading (i.e the first time we got up and moved when my parents got divorced at age 9).

Now, I’d hate to be the millennial cliché of a child scarred by divorce but that moment, though an initially jarring jumping off point for unfiltered teen angst and rebellion, became a cornerstone for many of the values I held dear going into young adulthood: independence, respect and adventure. Eventually, the moment that shook up my life and moved me cross-country felt comfortable and, perhaps as an act of rebellion, and perhaps as an act of fear, movement and tension became a desire and a requirement for my daily life. Continue reading