Something to tweet "home" about?

Some species of birds come back to the same nest year after year. They build their little birdy lives with mud and straw salvaged from the parking lot medians that vainly tried to protect new grass seed from hungry beaks. One day you go to remove the nest and realize that it's full of tiny grey, brown-speckled eggs. A few weeks later a chorus of chirps wakes you up on Saturday morning at sunrise. Finally, they learn to fly, it's almost winter and they all head further South to keep from being snowed in at the holidays. The next year Mom and Pop bird are back–sans baby tweets–and sticking new mud and straw on the nest to begin the whole lovely process over again.

I know this because a few days ago maintenance finally removed one such aviary couple out of the beams above our porch. I felt kind of bad just on principle for uprooting their lives. I mean, it will probably feel like a life crisis when they come back to Virginia in the Spring and find out they've been added to the list of displaced families. But then I realized that I have a really difficult time identifying with that somewhat obnoxious bird couple, not just because I don't generally eat worms or sit on eggs, but because the idea of keeping a nest in one place hasn't really been on my radar screen.

It's looking like I'm probably slated for a few more engagements with UHaul before I kick the proverbial bucket and find a more permanent place to plant myself (at Polk Memorial Garden's via Williams Funeral Home in Columbia, TN...Lauren, you can give me my kickback later :). Like it or not, every two years I start to get restless.

What I'm realizing lately is that the more I try to settle down into one idea of home, one identity, one life-goal to navigate the oceans of life by, the more I think the only constant might be the wanderlust. There are so many places to go, so many people to love and so many things to be accomplished, how can I possibly stay still?

But it's more than that. I don't seem to need to go out and chase down adventure. I don't have to run for the sake of running. As I keep my eye to the sky in daily life, always asking of each situation presented to me, "How does this factor in? How can I, right now, contribute to making something great happen here?" I find that my knowledge, skills, relationships and possibilities are expanding. I'm going places I've been seeing on the news and meeting people I used to read about in books. Why would I even WANT to tame that jungle of experience down into a manageable botanical garden?

I may wake up tomorrow to find my nest of mud and straw has been disassembled and I'm forced to move on. Guess I'd probably cry a little at first, but hey, the view from the new rafters will probably be even better.