The thing about spending half your year at sea - or just away from home - is that nothing stops while you're away.

In my mad dash to head out the door I left a little sweet potato stuck in a glass on my windowsill. It had two tiny sprouts coming out the top. This is what I came home to. How it survived let alone thrived is beyond me.

It's the perfect analogy for just about everything else in my life.

My family. My friendships. My home.

I often times leave and return to find things have changed.

After ten years what I know is this - the things that are meant to be will be here when I return. You know that friend you can see after five years and it's like nothing has changed? Some things are just meant to be.

It always takes a few days after coming home to assess the lay of the land.

What's new. What's the same. What's something I need to let go of. What's broken. What doesn't matter if it never gets fixed.

People keep asking 'what are your plans this time home?' and what I really wanna say is, 'leave me alone. I don't need a plan.' but, I don't. I pretend I'm socially adept and tell them what they want to hear.

Then I hang out in my house. I water my new little sweet potato plant. I rummage through my shelves to see all the things I've forgotten I like. I stream music (because hello cell phone reception is glorious). I wear my pajamas until the afternoon. I shoo the neighborhood cats off my porch.

My plan is to do that on repeat. The people who don't care I've been gone will stop by and join me.