I’m sitting in my neighborhood Starbucks. I use the term neighborhood loosely of course. It’s a suburb. There’s a mall right over there. But it’s my neighborhood. Someday our kids will likely feel about it the way I feel about Spring, Texas. All chain restaurants and subdivisions and good schools. Far away from anything exiting or anything that matters. Or so my teenage self thought. But I know now why my parents chose it. Why we chose here. We always come fill circle.
It’s my day off, but coming off vacation I took Harry to daycare anyway and came in here to check email and get a few things done. Made a offer to a candidate, adding to our team for the third time since I took over as director last fall. Read my devotional. Skimmed through the list of breakout sessions for a conference we will attend next week.
I try not to eavesdrop on the women’s conversations around me, but their words invade my ears. Talk of dating, weight loss, gossip about other women on Facebook. Talk of their children leaving them; growing up and going away. Oh.
There was a shooting in Colorado this morning. It seems silly to update my status or tweet a picture of my iced coffee or email my friends about baby names. But we live in our own bubbles. My life keeps spinning on just the same.
My brain feels so full lately. Spilling over with thoughts of my job, what I have been called to do, my family, what it’s like to live and love in an open adoption. The joy and expectation and fear that runs through me as we await our second child.
Here in this Starbucks, in my little corner of the big world, I write these words to you. (On my iPad keyboard that my dad is convinced no one can really type on. I did make a lot of typos, Dad.) I’m not a very good blogger. I don’t update enough. I’m not consistent. I’m boring most of the time. I don’t promote myself well or connect with the right people. But I’m still here and this space is still mine and I’m so grateful to those of you who share it with me. So I thank you.