I had that uneasy feeling again when in NYC this last time. It came out in Chinatown and lingered as I walked into Greenwich Village. I felt it cut deep as I boarded a W 4th train and crossed the bridge into Brooklyn. Wandering used to be fun, enlightening— eccentrically burdensome but still thrilling, fulfilling. Now I strongly feel it's time to settle down. The bags, the coffeeshop hopping, the queasy feeling I get when everyone's going "home" at night and I'm waiting for a bus or subway to a friend's apt or air mattress or couch... All of it is nearing it's "sell by" date, though I do have ethereal moments when being a nomad feels completely romantic and free. Indeed I have learned so much from my wandering around. I was thrust into the lifestyle. My womanhood was wildly honed between places like a one who'd given birth in the wild and raised her young in its untamed elements. However, visceral things are changing and some things-like being homeless for almost 4 years and having clothes in a storage bin 5 hours and several states away-need to come to a close so I can become someone different. A little more refined. Not that I need geography's permission to evolve. But solid ground is the only way I know to build anything that will last; you have to sit still to be polished. I wish I had a conclusion to this story like big news or a fairy tale ending but you know I write in realtime. This is a new chapter in my journey. Write about your season, what's being left behind, what strange and foreign things are coming to the forefront, and what you're building. Remember the woman you'll be. That's why I write and fill all of these journals. It's who I strain to remember when circumstances set themselves to ensnare me with citizenship and try to force me to learn their language at the expense of my own. I know this much: when it's time to move the music changes. If I listen closely to this season I'll find the rhythm of my journey and the direction will manifest like the choreography to a great dance. Journey Soulfully.
