Today, I came home from running some errands. The neighbor who lives directly across from me was busy banging and pounding at something in his garage filled with garbage. I immediately thought that it was just too much stuff.
I have a fear of becoming like my neighbor, life revolving around things, collecting things, surrounding your self with things, eventually being buried by those things. I don’t really enjoy having objects. People often ask me about how I am doing with decorating my house. I don’t know what to say to them because I just do not care.
They speak to me about making it into “my” space. I just can’t really get into it. Everywhere I have ever lived, regardless of the length of time, has always felt temporary. I feel that way about my house. It is just temporary.
I am at home in the absence of a home, in the absence of a final destination, happiest when I am in transit, moving, not held to one particular place. Being in one place feels like a trap, a slow drain on imagination, dreams, and any shreds of youth that remain.
There is something refreshing about having the ability to pick up and leave places, to remain unrooted. There is a certain comfort in remaining anonymous and not being tied down to the places visited. Sure, there are some benefits of developing close ties, friendships but, more often than not, those ties become ropes that bind us to other’s psychological dysfunction.
I liked when I used to work in other cities in the country, a short-term resident, taking in the sights, looking at the uniqueness of the place but free to move on.
Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle tells us that that it is impossible to determine simultaneously, with any certainty, the position and momentum of a particle, the more accurately the investigator determines one, the less accurately he can know the other. Maybe that says something about me, I am known or perhaps define myself more through my momentum than my position.
