Hitting a Wall at High Speed

This week's epiphany: I have serious wanderlust issues.

The entire month of April, thus far, has been spent ambling up the coast and down spine of California, staying in 8 different households. Much as I love to hit the road, see my wonderful friends and catch up with my birth state, I have reached my limit. I am no longer the freewheeling hobo I once was. These days, the weight of my suitcase carries more than just dirty clothes, it carries a heavy question: Where is home?

Yesterday, my spirit cracked wide open as I pleaded with my mom to cancel our trip to the desert house. Mind you, 29 Palms/Joshua Tree is my favorite place on Earth and yet, the very idea of packing up one more time and driving Elsewhere just made me sob. I was tired like I'd never been before - tired in my bones, tired in my corneas, tired in my brain stem.

This is why people put roots down, so they can develop a sense of community, foster relationships and just Be whoever they are in that place. Country songs are full of broken, wandering types who never find this peace and this cannot be my fate; I won't have it.

And I do feel somewhat better today, helped by a vigorous Chinese massage followed by some In-n-Out with mom. I'll have to travel again next week, just up to the SoCal mountains, but for the time being, I seek peace in an empty calendar and a silenced vehicle. I knew I'd reached my limit when I started to have thoughts like, 'I wonder what those silent meditation retreats are like? I should try one.' 

My tendency to constantly move is a very sheer form of avoidance. Real Life will be dealt with when I'm home but when you have no home and are on the move like some fake wannabe rock star, Real Issues never get dealt with.

And this is where I find myself - nose scraping up against a rough, cold wall with no more room to budge.  I need to stand still for awhile and say very little.

I need to catch up with myself.