love, lo

last night, I curled up on the couch with my two very best Ireland girls, some caramel apples, and Sleepy Ned stretched across our laps. we sat down to watch the movie we’ve been talking about since we met, P. S. I Love You. it’s about love—but what resonated with us was Ireland. always, always Ireland.

it was Whelan’s. and it was the Wicklow Mountains. and it was everything I remember, and everything I can do to make sure I don’t forget the boundless love, comfort, and joy I felt while in that remarkable country.

and then, it occurred to me. what was making me cry wasn’t the story line, it was missing Ireland down to my very core. something feels so right about that place. for a long time, I felt this unexplainable urge. I knew I needed to go abroad and live for a while “to spread my wings and figure it out,” I told my Momma. and then I did, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I grew up. I spread my wings. I figured it out. and then I came back to Michigan, where nothing quite feels the same, and I still feel the longing pull to go go go — but this time to go back to Ireland.

maybe there’s something waiting for me there. maybe there’s nothing but the green, rolling landscape and the crystal clear water and the music that soothes me every time and the smell of hops and fresh fish in the air. and maybe all it takes is pooling some money, buying a plane ticket and then…spreading my wings. figuring it out. falling in love with that perfect place all over again.