The guilt of a wandering child.

As a teenager I was determined to get as far away from this small town as possible.

Number one reason being a rebellious spirit and desire to do things that other people thought I couldn’t do.

Two and half years at my gas station job, and I had saved enough money to make this a reality.

A month after high school graduation I set sail from a small town in southeastern Pennsylvania to a place which to me, was living the dream in a big city.

The city happened to be San Jose, California, which isn’t actually a big or glamorous city. I lived in a sketchy neighborhood, in a small apartment with some other wandering hooligans, and worried my mother sick.

And at the age of 18 I realized that I was quite capable of doing things on my own.

That realization has been bittersweet.

Since moving to California I have moved throughout California, Guatemala, back to the east coast, Washington D.C., and now Costa Rica, with at least 3 other moves planned in the next year. I genuinely just love life.

But sometimes, all I can think of, is

my.poor.mother.

My mom is one of those mothers that is not only a mother but a friend, and not only my friend, but my friends friend, and their friends friend. The excitement she gets in visiting me, or having me come home is insurmountable.

No one else gets that excited. No one else changes their schedule to spend the most amount of time together possible, and no one else gets as sad (while my own excitement grows) as the countdown begins for the start of the next great adventure.

Don’t get me wrong. To be as cheesy but as honest as possible, this woman has given me the roots to know what its like to come home, and the wings to let me fly. And she’s never tried to keep me (not forcefully anyways), and she’s proud and respectful that I choose to live such a nomadic life.

But it really is heartbreaking to break someone else’s heart.

At this point, I can’t see myself coming back to this town as a permanent resident. And as the 3rd child in what was meant to be a siblinghood of 4, I don’t know if I will ever realize how hard that is for her.

But as awful as it sounds, it still doesn’t make me question if I am doing the right thing. I am sure that these are the right decisions for myself right now, for my future self, and also for the people who I care about.

Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.