As I mentioned earlier in the week, I recently moved back to the burbs. It is with a degree of swallowed pride that I say that I've moved into the lower level of my parent's mother-daughter house with my bride-to-be. With the prohibitive cost of pretty much everything here in New Jersey, this is our best shot at saving to buy a home of our own once we're married.
It's a prudent move, and my parents are two of the kindest, most welcoming people you'll ever meet. But, there's pride. And that little shit insists on reminding me that I'm almost thirty, and after five years on my own, I'm living with my parents again.
I've been back for a week now, and overall, things feel great. I attribute that to the environment more than anything else. I've been waking and sleeping with the sun. My post-workout cool down has been a walk with one of my parents' dogs. My nightly 1,000 words seem to come faster than they used to.
I'm a country boy from the hills of northern New Jersey. And yes, I relish the contradiction in that statement. Here, there are fewer distractions. You can see the stars at night. And deer, bears and coyotes wander through my front yard. Nature pushes back here. And that will always be my idea of home.