All I ever wanted to do when I was younger, was to travel the world. I thought that it was such a shame that most people only knew a handful of roads off the same stretch of highway they grew up around. I wanted to write books about the people and places and find home in every remote area I saw.

            I jumped at the opportunity to leave home the second I could.

            That’s a lie.

            I was accepted into every college I applied to, was offered a full boat to one school, and a partial at another. The university I chose – it was a decision based out of fear. That’s a long story for another time.

            Anyway, when my husband told me he wanted to go back into the military I happily obliged. An opportunity to see the world and go to new places? Absolutely, I was fine with it! I had just graduated college with a biomedical degree and this would be me an opportunity to figure out what I wanted to do while seeing new places.

The strangest thing that happened when he told people (mostly other service members or retired people) that he was going back was they would respond “and your wife is okay with this?” I thought that was both a shameful and thoughtful response. I know now that it is because the life of a military spouse is hard. It’s not the kind of hard you could grow to expect. It is harder than that. Harder than people give you credit for and harder than anyone could ever understand.

I don’t like living where we live. This isn’t anything against the architecture, people, culture, or anything like that. It’s more about the weather. If I had grown up here, I could see how this area could so comfortably and wonderfully become home. Truth is, I miss the cold. I miss the comforts of home. The smell of a coming snowstorm and the smell of the honeysuckle in the early summer morning when the dew is still fresh on the grass - I miss them both in equal measure. The sound of wind whistling through bare, snow-covered trees, as well as the overwhelming song of cicadas in the summer -  I miss those too. I miss the familiarity of home, the ability to see my parents whenever I desire, but most of all I miss knowing places I could go into the wilderness and be secluded

            There is only one place nearby where I can find some bit of serenity and it is a thirty-five minute drive. I’ll miss that place. I’ll miss the Spanish moss flowing down towards the ground, the tapered Cypress knees poking out of the swamp water, the Native American burial site hidden in the woods, and the beautiful memories of walking on those trails nearly every day of my second trimester.

Of the South, I’ll miss the twang lacing the words “bless your heart,” and “have a blessed day.” These are things you never hear in the North.

When I was young I was foolish enough to believe that I could find home in any place I want. I figured I could go anywhere and fall in love with the different ways of life because it is so easy to find beauty in things that are different. What I didn’t realize is that it, for me, is all about my state of mind. I went in to this move with expectations. I expected the winters to be harsher, the nature to be plentiful, and the people to be welcoming. As for the nature, this place is a concrete jungle. The winters are mild and the entire city shuts down if there is a dusting of snow on the ground. I mean, school is cancelled, grocery stores are closed, and the streets are empty. The people, however, are very friendly and welcoming.

So, what I will miss most of all are the opportunities I could have taken, places I could have gone, and people I could have met if I hadn’t had the expectations I did going in. If it weren’t for those ridiculous expectations and the shock of them being shattered, I would have a much longer list of things I would miss about this place and a far shorter one of things I missed out on.