It’s no coincidence that I’ve hardly written anything in the last two weeks. I haven’t been travelling, but standing still. The same thing happened in Buenos Aires - I just ran out of things to talk about. On the move again, things came to life.
When you stop moving, even for a short time, the molecules settle and find their own level. You unpack your bags. You begin to know your way around. You get accustomed to people, places. You know what to expect. There might not be a routine as such, but there’s a hint of one. This isn’t a bad thing - on the contrary. With all of this comes something that warms the soul: comfort. Stand still for long enough, and a place begins to feel like home.
I don’t have a home right now. I have a 10 x 8 storage unit containing the objects that will one day be reconstituted in the form of a home. Maybe. It’s not just about a house of course, and I do have a home in England. It consists of my family and friends, and the places I know like the back of my hand. But home is where the heart is, right? Well my heart’s here, beating softly inside me. The people I know and love, together with the ones I've met along the way, they are all somewhere else.
Gran's house, New Braunfels, TX. My home for the last 2 weeks
On Wednesday morning I said goodbye to Erin, Regan and Gran, and moved on from New Braunfels. Consequently, I feel a little lost right now. Unsettled. Like one of those little snow dome things. Sat on the mantelpiece for God knows how long, wrenched from its spot, shaken and replaced (though never quite where the ring of dust had formed around it) while the snowflakes flutter and swirl around their tiny universe.
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