Then we’re home
Finally home
Home in the land of the homeless
Finally home-Paul Simon, “Hurricane Eye”
I have always had a restless spirit. When I am grounded, I dream of taking flight. When I am flying, I look for solid ground.
It’s not that I am dissatisfied with where I am at. Not at all. It’s just that there is some ineffable force pushing me constantly onward, almost as if I am a fish and if I stop moving I will no longer be able to breathe. The specter of stagnation forever gnashing at my heels, spurring me to seek new surrounds.
Like I said: restless spirit.
All of this restlessness leaves me also with a perpetual sense of homelessness. I live in a dichotomous limbo between craving a sense of home and being compelled to continually refresh my surroundings. In short, I never feel truly rooted anywhere when I am always preparing to leave. And indeed it seems I am always either coming or going, returning or departing. I often come back to a place which harbors fond memories, strong memories (like Maine or Oregon), and my experience is an unsettling mixture of nostalgia and renewal. Like meeting up with an old friend who is now a stranger.
My summer travels brought this fact into sharp relief: none of us can ever go home. Not really.
Ramey on the Road 