The Grass is Greener

Whenever we’ve traveled in the past, usually in the summertime, I’d be easily captivated by the beauty of some of the places we visited, especially when mountains and lakes were part of the scene.  I would imagine what it might be like to live year-round in Waterton or Canmore and I saw my life being ideal in each new place we visited.

Of course, I did the same thing when we went for shorter drives, closer to home.  Then I was convinced that life would surely be perfect if only we lived in a lovely place like Pinawa or Wasagaming.  I would picture myself living in a lovely home in those “perfect” locations and imagine walking down to the lake or river each morning, sipping a coffee, and carrying a good book or my notebook and pen.

 When we chose our home in the country, I was certain that my wanderlust and imaginings about life elsewhere had come to an end.  Why would I dream that life elsewhere could be better than where we now found ourselves?  For that matter, why would I ever want to leave our new home in the first place?  And for the first five years it never occurred to us to plan a vacation, because we so much enjoyed our new home.  We felt as though we were living in a country vacation cottage, with the pleasures of sand, water (a lovely creek at the back of our property), and trees.

But, believe it or not, after those first five years we did develop travel fever again and decided on a road trip to visit family in Alberta and British Columbia.  We planned a route that we had not travelled before and allowed extra time to explore some of the little towns and villages we passed through each day.  On one very hot and sleepy Sunday afternoon in July we found ourselves in a shady little town in Saskatchewan.  As we explored I took note of the artist culture in the shops and cafes on the Main Street, the many older two-story homes, and the cool and shady tree-lined streets.

 

“Wouldn’t it be great to live here,” I daydreamed.  “I could write and join the local writer’s group or be part of the book club, go for walks on …”   And then I caught myself in my own thoughts.  What could possibly be better than home, where I was already writing, where I had a writer’s group, and where a book club was not far away?  On another day during the same vacation, I caught myself dreaming about moving to a forested mountain resort town, sure that here was all the inspiration for creativity I could ever need.

After thinking it over, I realized I had all the inspiration I could use right in my yard, in the sunshine, the wildlife, and the wind in the pines at my forested retreat from the world.  Why then did thoughts of living somewhere else still appear?  I concluded that it must be part of my imaginative nature to picture myself in whatever setting we visited.  In my imagination the grass might seem greener away from home but in my heart, and in reality, I always know the greenest grass is right where I left it, and where I would always long to return, at the end of my own country mile, home.