Here's a piece of me to start things off again. Missed you!!
Home is not a stationary thing for me; it wasn’t something that ever existed in the usual way. It had nothing to do with family or old memories, fond memories, any memories. Home was futuristic to me. I hoped to build it out of the people I would meet, the places I would visit.
When you take home with you, you’re far more selective of what you call home, for if you carry too many Things, it can become too heavy, too involved in its idea rather than its practice. And so you choose wisely, and you discard things along the way, Things that no longer serve a purpose, Things that you forgot why you brought with you in the first place. And so home is always new and perfectly suited to you, never bogged down by forgotten toys and Things, never held up by books whose reason for keeping escape you.
You also try to make sure to leave certain Things behind, which is harder than deciding what to take most of the time, mainly because the decision is only half of it (and the easier half at that.) For those Things, you most often end up having to really rip them from you because they hold on tighter than anxious children. Finally, you peel the fingers off, one-by-one, tell yourself that it’s okay, that you can leave this here and YOU will be fine, that it doesn’t need you and you don’t need it. It’s amazing how much we think we need our pain especially, and remarkable most of all how we somehow fail to remember that there will always be more hurt, that leaving one behind only assures the encroachment of the next.
Peace and love and bugs named Doug,