I was joking with Asy this morning about the mystery of never feeling like an adult, and how it feels like my entire life I've been asymptotically approaching adulthood but will never reach fully reach it. Do we ever truly feel grown up? Do we ever finish growing, knowing what we need to know, knowing what we don't? Does it even matter, as long as we go through the actions of responsibility, of commitment, of love? I think I like the feeling of anticipation more than the idea of accomplishment, though I still find myself yearning for the stability I always imagined came with officially growing up.
It's been ten years since I wrote here last. Some things have changed. The west coast, that great Washington adventure begun almost twelve years ago, didn't stick in the end, and I've boomeranged back to the Hudson Valley, about 70 miles north of my departure point, now with a family I collected, or got collected by, or joined forces with, along the way. More on that some other day, maybe, but for now, tonight, this is enough.
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