For so much of my life, I have made decisions heavily based on what other people think I should do, and in my moments of weakness I fall back on what everyone else wanted me to do mostly as an excuse. Well… back in June, I stood at a cross roads, do I stay on the coast and work, waiting for school to work out? Or do I move back to Missouri and make school work for me. Well I made a somewhat rash decision and packed up my whole life to move back to middle America– where it gets cold in September– and live in a small town. And there are days sometimes, more often than not when I wake up and think “What the hell am I doing here?” and its in those moments that I have to remind myself that I chose this. I packed my own boxes, I chose my own move, it was all me. My mother wanted to me stay on the coast and work for a bit, but I wanted to come back. She’s glad to have me closer to home though. And in the middle of my woe is me moments I find myself walking up onto the porch of the house where I grew up, and my golden retriever sits there waiting for me to step onto the front step and pet her head. She literally smiles. It’s those moments I’m so glad to be here, and that being lost doesn’t seem to matter all that much. But those are moments, not most of the times. It’s the most of the times that kill. So I surround myself in a group of people who sometimes seem to hardly know me. But even that assumption seems unfair, because I’m not all that sure that I always know me. It’s other little moments though that I remember this wont last forever, that it can’t. That things really only can get better from here.