Dinner and Disquiet

I had a chance last night to have dinner with someone I haven't seen since high school.  We've been chatting some on FaceBook, that mass meeting place of people past and present, and it was so good to see him again.  He, too, left here after college and went elsewhere.  Unlike me, though, he hasn't decided to come back.  He was home to visit, and as we ate and talked, I saw this place through his eyes.

He asked me what there was that is exciting.  I wanted to laugh.  Not a thing.  This is not a place that does exciting.  I talked about a couple of things that have changed here recently, and they are big, good things, really, but not things that probably will thrill the soul of someone accustomed to the pace of a faster life.

We talked about living abroad and it stirred memories in me of what it was like to be somewhere else, to be in that life again.  Inevitably, he asked me why I stay here.  I answered him as I always do, that I haven't been given any sign that I'm supposed to be somewhere else, but I felt so frustrated by that answer.  Do I love what I do here?  Yes.  Still.  In spite of it all.  Does some part of me still look to the skies and wonder about soaring again?  I can't say that's not true.  What's wrong with me?  Why does there have to be this perpetual yearning, this constant struggle if this is the right place?

My friend will get on a plane again in two days and plunge back into that other life.  I remember what that was like.  I remember the dual-edged feeling, the pain of leaving my family and friends and the soaring excitement of heading back into that other place, into my life.  Part of me can't help but envy him spreading those wings and flying away even while another part of me is still glad to be standing firmly on the ground.  I wonder if these two disparate people will ever find a way to be at peace.