I've been scared to commit for fear of losing my freedom. But if I never commit, I’ll never have the “freedom" of experiencing what it feels like to build something that lasts.

I watch my fingers type. I am wearing gold and silver rings. My hands remind me of my mother’s hands. And not just because of the wrinkles I am beginning to notice, but because my mother wears gold and silver rings too. I’ve been thinking a lot about my mother lately. Wishing she were here to help with my move. In the past when I moved into a new place, I would make a list of the things I need and she would go to the store for me and get them. She always came back with more than I asked for. Stocked the fridge. Made the house a home. From Day One. I never wanted for anything.

This time, I moved myself. On the other end of the world. In a foreign country that is becoming less foreign to me with every passing day. My mother isn’t here. But I had the help of beautiful friends. And an ex-boyfriend who has been incredibly physically present throughout this emotional process for me. I have no shame in the tumultuous nature of the way life shakes out sometimes. I live it. And I know that the time periods of chaos are always life rearranging itself for us, so we can find something that is even more aligned for us. Boyfriend to ex-boyfriend to friend. Texas to Montana to Hawaii to Argentina.

I sit on my bed. My new bed that I bought that is surrounded by windows on either side of me, like I’m being hugged by the forest. I cherish this moment. How perfect it is. And I reminisce on the moments I’ve spent sitting in beds feeling lost. Wondering when I would finally feel at home. When I finally had my home. But if I didn’t feel that lost then, would I feel this found now?  A yellow bird lands on a tree branch outside my window. It’s beautiful. So beautiful that I cry. Then I think about the yellow bird I saw on the big island of Hawaii.