My commuting history

why is it that I always seem to be living between two places? My life is a commuting journal - with the miles ticking away as I sail with the windows down in my trusty toyota. The two of us have flown past plenty of fields golden with wheat, the sprinklers shattering sunlight across the rows. 278.74 miles from Salt Lake to Victor, ID where my summers were filled with milking the cow, weeding the garden, building fence, stripping rails, swimming in ponds, hiking with the boys, games of capture the flag, huckleberry shakes, music until the morning, hot summer romances, and a freedom the winter left me starving for. 82.76 miles from Salt Lake to Logan - from free laundry and mowed grass to the sheer Wellsvilles where I loved and laughed with the granola hippies. 468.3 from Salt Lake to Moab and then back again. . . Every weekend fighting the oars against wind to pull out of the river in time to drive 5 1/2 hours to see a boy who kissed my forhead and told me he hoped and I loved. Time unwound like a spool of thread and I found 2005 and 2006 brought 410.51 miles between Slc and Aspen, CO where I met everything that makes me me in a small town and big music school. Back and forth to get to the temple; to see the man who kisses my mouth and takes me equally with ups and downs. He wraps his strong arms around me and tells me I am amazing. Worth the drive? He is explosions of laughter, moments of yellow, and a warmth inside everytime he looks at me like that. It fills me up, fills me up with white - I would drive it a million times without ever wondering why. Moving to New York began the commutes in the stale air of planes. 2172.85 miles and 4 1/2 hours in the air. Today is one week out from the next series of commutes. I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I try to bundle up inside and prepare my mind. three weeks on, one week off - thanksgiving break, and then to get to the end of December. To stay focused, riding all the breaks in between as part of the rhythm, without allowing them to detatch me from consistancy, studying in my mind, ipod attached to ears, lessons on mini discs, music packed in the carry on. I can do this. I can do this. This takes courage. To live in New York - and this time to brave it alone. With that feeling of responsibility weighing on me - responsible for a lot of debt, a lot of credit cards, a lot of jet blue points, a lot of rent and new york priced groceries. And to be a "non conventional wife". He smiles and says it will be okay. He says he believes in me.
That degree is calling to me from the other side - another year to learn, to play in concerto night, to keep the music growing inside of me. I want this badly.
I guess when it comes down to it, I'm a natural at commuting.