I’m not sure if this happens to everyone, but it has started to bother me with increasing magnitude.
I grew up in Kansas City, MO. When I moved to North Carolina it was the first time I’d ever lived away from the familiarity of my beautiful city. The adjustment in North Carolina was almost more than I could bear. Suddenly, I found myself driving in circles on streets that had changed names three times within as many miles.
Navigating the new territory became a challenge, I found myself wandering about, trying to find my way, physically and figuratively. By the time we left, I became one with Fayettenamville. I knew the back roads, the city streets and the strange circles I found myself trapped in. I can still draw pictures in my head of exactly where I need to go to get somewhere.
Since moving to Kansas I’ve found myself planning my day around the cut-out of Fayettenamville. I’ll head left down Cliffdale, take a right… in to Target, stop by Home Depot… across the street I’ll run in to Michaels, then down Skibo to All American… take a left and in to JoAnns. Dash onto All American, off at Sante Fe headed to the Commissary. Only, I’m not there anymore. I haven’t been for 15 months.
Often while at work, when my mind is focused on something important, I find myself mindlessly listing my errands to be run at lunch… but I’ve got it all wrong. I’m in Kansas. I can’t do things with the efficiency I spent five years cultivating. I have to find new paths, new back roads… new places. It seems to me, I should have already done this.
The truth is, I love where we are. Given the opportunity, I’d stay here. I love our house, our neighborhood, the incredible proximity to my family. I’d retire here, given the option. Of course, that’s not the life I signed up for as a military wife. I signed up for a lifetime of forging new friendships, finding new paths… reaching further. A lifetime of nomadic adventure.
Does this happen to other military wives or nomads? I know you’re out there, reading my words and thinking to yourself, “Yes… I can’t figure out where I am half the time!” or, “No… crazy woman… figure out where the hell you are!” Am I crazy?
Furthermore, I plead to Webster… could you please add Milwife under the definition of nomad? I can’t see how it’s not fitting.