When I step outside it smells like home; a bit musty, faintly tainted by pluff mud and paper mill, with a hint of salt from the sea. Home. I always forget the stress release I get by just stepping off the small commuter plane onto the tarmac and smelling the sweet smell of home.
I like living abroad. I like being able to go see things I have never seen before, travel to towns that are unfamiliar, and meeting people that I would never have the chance to meet had my husband not joined the military. However, there is no feeling quite like coming back to the familiar after months or years of being away. Navigating roads that still feel like the back of your hand despite the new construction around them makes me happy. Shopping in familiar surroundings and knowing exactly where to find exactly what I need is comforting. Knowing that the intersection of Sam Rittenburg Bullivard and Highway 61 is going to be an absolute nightmare at 5pm snaps me back into my previous life; the life before I married my military man and we embarked upon our adventures.
Of course now we are in real life. A life where our little girls get funny looks because of their semi-English accents, not because an English accent isn't desirable, but just unexpected in these parts. A life where despite feeling at home here, I can feel at home anywhere.
