Once again I am not doing what I am supposed to, but I had a conversation in a coffee shop last night that got me thinking. I was asked where home was for me. That is a fuzzy place now. I have my parents house. School, which my mother hates me calling home, and the trail of states that I have lived in. The longest that I have lived in one place is five years. I asked the woman how travelling a lot affected her ability to have depth in her relationships because I have noticed that I make friendships that grow deep quickly, but I know I will leave in four years so I stay at that initial depth. it is a pschological defense or something like that, but that is a bullcrap excuse for being scared to really invest in the people in my life and commit. For those of you that have been screwed by my lack of heart, I am sorry.
Why the change? haha. Why not? I have realized that I have lived half a life and I have marginalized those around me. My love has been strewn with egoism and void of much altruism (philosophy huh?). I should be known by the love that I am exhibiting not denying. When we love, we open ourselves up to pain. To hurt. To loss.
So what does this have to do with "home"? Well maybe my lack of reckless love and trust (taking the pain as well as joy) forces me to a nomadic life. Anyway, Cheers to all.
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