Check in: Rambling thoughts. Wandering body.
I traveled to Portland this past week for a medical procedure. It was fairly routine, but things that have to do with the health and well-being of my body tend to freak me out, regardless of how “routine” they are. I went alone, though my doctor and his assistant were very supportive and my mom and sisters were on-call.
The process of going through this procedure and recovery have made me yearn for my “home,” though I don’t exactly know where that is right now. I’ve been trying, recently, to think of “home” as something I carry with me, a concept I came across while visiting Oakland in February. But there always seems to be a tug at the side of my neck that urges me to search for “home.” It’s a sort of footnote that informs me that “home” is a nebulous thing, and it’s out there, tucked away in a corner of the earth. And I have to find it. Is this why I wander across the country and feel an urgent need to move every year or two? Where does this tug originate from in my psyche?
Could it be that “home” is my memories, of places that make me feel warm and inspired and people who make me feel cared for, loved? What if “home” isn’t a physical space?