Home.

I travel to the great north across the border. As I cross the bridge, through the snow, I take a moment and smile, “How can this adventure endlessly surprise me?”.
Six months ago, I could not imagine driving a rental car across a bridge to Canada but here I am. I feel confident steering through the light layer of slushy snow. All the youthful bike trails have trained me for this moment. The tires occasionally slip but I instinctively correct and fit in with the local traffic.
A week of navigating through snow to and from the office, I am still in awe. So much that is foreign to me, presented like a script. The return across that bridge brought me right back to the excitement ahead. I never know what is to come but I know that there is always more. I arrive at Detroit Metro to board a plane home.
The plane circles above Louisville as I peer over the wing down to the river. I exit the airport and walk through the sliding doors. The missus parks at the curb and the feeling pours over me. Home. It just happened. It took exactly thirty days of living here to cultivate this new feeling. I am home.