As I sit in my room I stare at boxes, bags and a to do list, a to do list that just seems like there is not enough time to complete, boxes that beg me to begin but still I have no idea where to start. I should, I have done this countless times before, and even with the overwhelming feeling crushing me I know deep down. the to do list will be finished on time. I always make sure it is, sometimes with the faintest idea of how I managed to pull it off, but isn’t that how life works, how people work, always managing to do what they have to, even if they thought they couldn’t. Moving had seemed like such a great idea, the problem is moving wasn’t the great idea, being a family again was the great idea, everything that came with it actually SUCKED! I hate moving, I have always hated moving, the problem is I do enjoy the final product of moving. I like change, I honestly thrive in it, which sometimes makes me feel like an outsider considering most of the people in my life are opposite of this. Most people fear change or at the very least are more content to stay and keep things the way they are. Comfort I suppose, but I find little comfort in doing the same exact thing every day, being in the same place for years. When things become predictable and constant I feel caged, I feel as if it drains me, maybe it is because I spend my energy daydreaming about doing something different, something new or going to a place I have never seen. Sometimes it feels like something in my head is screaming out for just a little spontaneity, something to shake things up. So this move should really be enjoyable or at least the product of moving, the end result should be. It’s not, because I despise the place I am going back to and I spent 5 years there, enough time apparently to easily feel caged before I even arrive. I didn’t realize I would feel this much contempt about where I was going when I decided to make the move, then again even if I had it really wouldn’t have changed anything at all, I would still be making the trip, I would still be going to the place I have been calling home recently. Each time the word home releases from my lips I get a lump in my throat, since when did that become home? I guess it only makes sense that it must have become home, when he stepped off of the plane there, because our family together wherever we are is “HOME”
Where do you consider home and why?