Standing in a field with my daughter nodding off against my shoulder, the silhouette of my parents’ house black against the moon-washed sky, I wonder how much I’ll end up missing this place. We spent the weekend going through boxes and files, putting old files into new boxes and the contents of old boxes into new files. The chatter of voices only broken by a rogue sneeze as dust danced near irritable noses. I'm not the most sentimental person, but I grew up in this house and now, as we start ...

This evening I drove back from my childhood home with my wife and our 17 month old daughter. The drive to our house takes about an hour and I’ve done it countless times; it's dark and windy, long stretches look exactly the same, and as the sun sets the road becomes a familiar mix of beautiful and dangerous. We had left a small family gathering not unlike dozens of others we’ve had in the past. Aunts and uncles, cousins, and siblings from far away all gathered together around the same table wh...