My mom once told me to bloom where I was planted. And I've had ample opportunity to try; I've moved a lot.
So here's what I've learned along the way — what blooming (or attempting to) has taught me.
Packing ... again. Unpacking ... again. Registering to vote ... again. Getting new license plates ... again.
OK I'll stop there because it's physically exhausting just thinking of adding more to that list. You get it.
Your conversations with the automated voice of your now-beloved GPS are no longer rage-filled like they have been in times past.
Things like, "RE-ROUTING?!?! AGAIN?!" are now more like, "It's fine; take your time. I know you've got my back."
You basically have an "I seriously love you so much" feeling toward it about once every other day.
OK once a day.
How else would you know how to get, well, anywhere?
Mountains that make you wonder if you're driving through a real-life painting; palm trees that just about reach heaven; country roads; the sea-salty air on the coast; cacti standing so alone and quiet in the desert.
And there is so much more. Every place is vastly different; and there is so much beauty to be found wherever you are living.
Blooming is all about just putting yourself out there; _enjoying_where you live. Swimming in the ocean. Taking a walk and crunching through some crisp leaves in the fall. Going to a museum. Exploring new places. Really appreciating the beauty around you.
Genuinely loving where you live brings peace and happiness to your soul.
The joy of blooming is that it allows you to have richer experiences, and more fully enjoy where you are; and it's wonderful.
The sorrow of blooming is that when you do, you leave pieces of your heart behind when you leave; and it's heartbreaking.
Home. So much of who you are is because of where you came from. And when you've moved away, the word "home" itself brings all the feels right along with it. It doesn't really matter where home is — you just sort of come to realize that it's one of the best places in the world.