Sometimes I miss my family so much, the weekend brunches, the shopping the laughing the fighting. When is missing too much? And when do we choose what's right for us? How do we know where we are or what we are doing is right? Sometimes I wonder if would be easier back home but I enjoy challenges, but maybe I'm starting to recognize that I have family. Some who have passed and I know what life is worth. The beauty of someone you love living is so precious and I believe should be cherished. But to what degree? If we all stayed near our family would we be consumed by comfort? Is that a bad thing? Or Oder all left the nests. Would that be selfish? Would then be the regret we hoped to not have in life when we choose to leave in hopes to never regret not leaving. What's right? We will never know. 4 years of a precious souled nephew I have has passed in his 6 years of age. And the niece well she's two. Sometimes I'm the one who feels like I'm missing out. On life. As it unfolds and grows. And for what? I am lucky. I am grateful. I have a serious need to search and find happiness. My sister once told me places don't make you happy whose around you does. Guaranteed she and I don't make each other happy all the time and thinking of going back to be able to hold her each day makes that thought worth all the loss and gain. I love them. That feeling is real and true. Something I have taken for granted. But could I live? In a small town once again? I could for the love of my family. But I fear my boredom. Because being around ppl gives me an undrugged high. Something that I crave. I crave the ppl who don't know me, the ppl who shouldn't matter but for some strange reason I have a strong comfort in that. My family, they know everything. They can see right through me. And yes they call it out; as they should. Going back home can be exhaustingly draining, but I appreciate the reality check, and I appreciate the love they give without hugs, I know it's there, because they know the real me. The real me who has such troubles no one could ever see. The real me no one in this world would wish to be. Drownding in an ocean. Floating on a wave. That's the peace I feel in the small towns. With slowly driving by faces pass I might know from the tiny tiny town, a daze I have from the years I spent drained and weak, literally unable to speak. Those memories stay when I go back. But the memories of real love, real friendship, real happiness, real music, real health, that's all there too. And so is my family. I wish they would move. I suppose I'm just not ready to leave NYC yet. Time will tell and I will remain comfortable by that thought. But the more I visit the more I miss them. Family is everything. I believe in that, and I'm thankful for the little family I have.