by jlolb

You search.  You live and you wonder about what will come next and what you want to come next and how to make the next happen.  What will it be?  Where will it be?  And, importantly, how?

It’s a beautiful thing, this changing of the seasons.  First obvious with a look west, the gold starts high in those Aspens and creeps its way, slowly, down from those hills until finally catching the leaves on the streets and my block in this city.  Rolling over all of us, leaves begin to fall.  Swaying gracefully more than falling, actually.  I sit, encumbered, the weight of wonder heavy on my chest.

The past couple of days, my mind has been clouded in wonder of whether my time here in this city might be coming to an end.  Wondering if I am living the life I am truly mean to live and if I’m living one that I’ll be proud to have owned someday.  Is it time for something new? Can I continue to ignore that feeling inside of me, that nomadic soul, that wants to pack it all up and move on…to explore another place, another city, another life, another definition of home.

“Just go.”  That’s what my friend said. “You do it in pencil, it doesn’t have to be forever.”

What am I waiting for?

I’m not sure.

Where do I head next?

I’m not sure.

Maybe this feeling will pass;  perhaps it’s just the hangover of my recent trip to Germany still holding on; the one that left me with such excitement, such an infectious hope of being able to explore another world…a little time, a nap and a little time–that should do the trick…and then, maybe, I’ll find myself content again.  After all, I have spent the last two and a half years here, carefully crafting and placing the pieces of this life I truly do love; inserting these people one by one–creating distance where needed and pulling the others close.   It’s a craft, and I know this one isn’t complete and so why would I want to leave it?

Will I ever find a place I want to be forever?

Or maybe a life of whimsy without roots is an existence I am meant to live?

Maybe living a connected existence doesn’t have to mean staying in the same place…at least maybe it doesn’t have to mean that for me.

Must go sharpen my pencil…