I was home last weekend, helping Mrs. YDP to get us moved out of Green Bay and returning to Minnesota. It was great to be back in our home, where there was space galore, a full beer fridge, and our huge, comfortable bed (which is NOT an inflatable).
As I sat on our patio grilling and looking out at the golf course, I felt pretty blue. We'd never again live in a home as nice as this. We're only going backward from here, and it made me sad.
I thought about my melancholy. Why was I truly sad? The answer came clearly - I was missing things. Tangible things. Inanimate things. Just...things.
Were we happy there? Nope. We did have the Lambeau Fais Do Do, and a couple of other family gatherings, but beyond that, we did not have a ton of memories there. It was a lot of me golfing by myself, and us missing our friends and family.
Did I ever think that I'd ever live in an active NFL player's house in my life? Nope. Did I ever think I'd take a financial bath on said house? Nope. Am I bitter? YES.
Don't get me wrong, it was a nice house. Nice as hell. The only thing it didn't have was proximity to people we love.
Will I miss the things? You bet. Will I miss them as much as I've missed the people? Not even close.