I'll be home for Christmas

Remember those kids in high school who would stare out the classroom window and wish they were just about anywhere else? I was very much one of those kids. Everything was happening some place else and growing up in small town Wisconsin, I dreamed about the day I could escape. No more knowing everyone's business, no more small town snail-like pace, no more I love hunting/fishing/sports more than my wife! bumper stickers. I couldn't wait.

Since those high school days, I've incrementally moved further and further from home; suddenly I find myself a short drive from Mexico but a long plane trip to Wisconsin. While I'm happy about the choices I've made and where I've wound up, it's funny how the place I longed to escape has become the place I excitedly return.

In a few hours, I'll be packing my bags and headed home for the first time in 7 months and I'm excited about everything: seeing my nieces and nephew, arguing with my dad over my disdain for wearing socks around the house, I might even smile when I spot the first misogynistic bumper sticker on the back of some guy's Ford.

I know the whole "home for the holidays" concept is a bit cliche, but sometimes joy works out that way. Sometimes it's all the cheese ball commercial stuff that people think about during the holidays: the crackling fires, the falling snow, sitting around with family and the people you love. It's going home. It's slowing down. It's wanting to be right where you are.