I’d have to say that our move back to San Francisco has always been in the back of my mind. But when we first moved to the UK, it just seemed so far away. Two years is a long time, even in dog years.
We had taken a step and could not deny that the pendulum had swung. You see, we’d be back. But the excitement and adventure pulsed through our veins and fogged that critical point out there in the distance, that hour, day, or event where we’d swing back from left to right, to right to left. We couldn’t see or feel that point where we’d pass from coming to going even though we knew it was somewhere out there. Like a trapeze artist, we’d only know our return was imminent when everything around us stopped – where a brief moment of stillness begged momentum to meet motion to push us back to where we had started. The return point.
I’ve squeezed my eyes tight to find that point. I can now say we are well beyond it. The rope is taught and gravity has swept us on our way. I can also tell you, friction blew Galileo’s equation. Times have changed, and so have we. Hansel’s bread crumbs would do us no good, our path home is through uncharted grounds. Sure, one ledge lead to the next, but I can see that not every step back will have another to follow. You see, we were our pendulum’s pivot and the ledge we stepped from is no longer there. And good thing, our return point was the day we truly knew we’d come as two, but would return as three.