Life is full of in-betweens.

I’m the kind of person that likes to walk barefoot in the dirt, mud, sand, and just sink in my toes, imagine I’m growing roots and firmly attach myself to the moment. I just wish those moments would be longer than the 3-year hiccups I’m suffering.

The first time I noticed in-betweens was in high school. I hated it. Yup. You won’t catch me back there even in my dreams (even my nightmares know to stay away). And yet when I was there, graduating class, full of hopes and expectations, (wanting to scream with joy now that I was leaving the hell-hole), it dawned on me: I was going to start something new. I was scared. The roots I had dug into my life thus far were going to be yanked out and transferred elsewhere.

I got over it, found something better. But that’s when the three-year hiccups began.

Went to college. LOVED IT. Light that neon sign with the word ‘nerd’ glowing in ten foot-long letters and attach my picture to it if you want, but I lived and loved every single second of it. After three years of that, I was in between studying some more or braving the work world. I decided to take a break and try the work world. I lived 6 long months of an in-between that threatened to leave permanent worry lines on my forehead. Bottom line, I was inexperienced, under-qualified, over-qualified, not what anyone was looking for.

Enter another in-between. Leave my home and seek my fortune elsewhere, or get into the Master’s program at my alma mater? Everything happened quickly after that. Got accepted, I hated the program, left my home, lived with a relative, stuck in another in-between, got a shoe-box apartment where I paid double what I would for renting an actual house back home, and got a job. Ah, no more in betweens.

Nope, I was still stuck. In between getting a better place, a better job, a better Master’s program.

FINALLY settled down in another state, another life, another Master’s degree. Hesitantly wriggled my toes and found some peace. For a while. Guess what happened 3 years later? Yup, a hiccup. Home was calling, home was screaming to me and I did not put up a fight. So I went back and happily dug in my toes again and settled comfortably. Got a job, left, got a better one, needed a house, but I felt like I was actually making progress.

You guessed it, 3 years passed and another hiccup. Now I need a PhD because when I needed a Master’s I didn’t have it, and now that I do, I don’t have the PhD required. Someone, somewhere, is getting a kick out of all of this, I know it. Meanwhile, I’ll play the number three, (or 33, or 333, etc.), in the lottery and hope I’ll win.

So, stuck in another pesky in-between. Packing, packing, packing - LORD where did all this junk come from?! - and packing some more. Hopefully this new place, this new life, I am headed off to will be more than a 3-year hiccup, or if it isn’t, that at least the destination after that will be where I can dig in my toes and finally call home.

At least now I’ll be able to do more of what I love: writing!