I love being home. Just putzing around or creating in my kitchen while the kids run around in their jammies. It’s peaceful. It’s relaxing. It is home. I don’t have to wash my hair or shave my legs. I don’t have to put on real pants. Or any pants at all, for that matter so you should probably text before you just drop by. Most days, I am perfectly content here. But sometimes, I notice a stirring in my soul. It starts small but typically grows more noticeable over time. I don’t know how to describe it other than there is an angst in my guts. Unsettled. It’s not my favorite, so I start looking for answers. Is it something I’ve forgotten or someplace I’m supposed to be? No, it’s deeper.