I’m always wanting to get away, to break free, to roam, to explore, to wander about, to move move move and to not stop at a place for too long, that I suspect I have an inability to remain stationary. I have to always be in motion. There’s constantly a faraway place I’m dreaming of, to go to, to live in for a while, whether a foreign city/town/its outskirts, as long as it’s Anywhere But Here, and even then, it won’t be for long because soon that faraway foreign place will turn into Here, and I’ll want to get away again.
It’s a strange thing to feel like you don’t belong, no matter where you are. And it isn’t that you’re not trying either. You just don’t fit in because they don’t have a mould your size.
So I look for places to escape to and I make my plans, and it’s thrilling just thinking about it because there’s so much to look forward to; new place, new people, a fresh start.
It’s different when I actually get there though. I take in everything and it is glorious, but somehow chasing the place felt a lot more exciting than actually reaching it. After a while I’ll get restless, ready to take off for somewhere else because I don’t want to stay too long til I get tired and bored of the place, til I realise the Getaway Place still isn’t the answer. I’d rather have good memories, that I left because I wanted to, not because I needed to.
Where I live right now is Home for the most part, almost all the people I know and love are here, along with my things, but never for long. It’s a place I can treasure only when I’m away. And when I return, I want to leave it again.
I’m like a weary nomad looking for the signboard that points to Where You’ll Always Belong.
At my age, shouldn’t I have had all this figured out by now? Geez.
I’m just so tired of drifting.
Enough said here.
