i can't really speak to what it's like to grow up in the place you were born. i've never been a staying person. the last time i counted i have moved 32 times; not 32 states or anything i'm not an army brat but i've moved around a bit from home to home (and yes from state to state). i've never disliked it and even though as a child i had no control over it i always felt that as an adult i would stay a gypsy. i planned on living in san francisco for a year and then bouncing to the next place. i almost did too, after the boyfriend and i broke up for the first time i saw no real reason to remain.
obviously i did.....remain.
in the last five years i've had to fight that itching fever every six months or so. that footloose kind of fever. it keeps me awake. i lie in bed thinking about roads. i wake up and browse craigslist for new apartments. i get drastic haircuts. i plan tattoos. i buy plane tickets, i take random journeys. but i'm still here. i don't quite know why. the urge to go and the instinct to stay are equally strong, fighting it out, and i am the spectator. the vessel. it's taken awhile to recognize that this is a part of me and i'd better figure out a way to keep the rambler happy or i never will be.
i am taking great comfort in good friends. friends that i've now had for years. we don't see each other for stretches at a time, but i'm starting to have a bigger picture of their lives, and they of mine. i have seen them go through things. finish school. finish relationships. finish jobs. etc. and they know my past. they see how far i've come. they ask the right questions and they genuinely care about the answers.
it is what i image home to feel like. and it's nice. i think might stay.