Growing up, I imaginged I'd live in New York in a loft apartment in mid-town Manhattan or I'd have a lakefront home along the shores of Lake Michigan and Chicago's skyline would draw me downtown, like a beacon, and I'd spend my evenings watching the best theater products and movies or taking the train to a Cubs or Yankees game, depending on which city I chose to live.
And now, where am I? Far away from the glitz and glamour of NYC and Chicago. But after 46 years of traveling, I think I'm where I belong. It might be 16 miles to the nearest town, grocery store, or quick mart, but I think this area of Nebraska - the sandhills - is one of the most peaceful spots I've lived. Someone told me that looking west from my front deck is looking out across God's country. At first I laughed because what I first see is dairy cattle in a pen and a mad bull stomping to get closer to them. But you have to look beyond, look for the scattered cedars that occasionally pop up along the hills, the cacti that dot the ditches, the sunsets that stretch across the horizon and glow purple-red.
I might live in the middle of nowhere, but I'm home. . . and still speculating about the world.