Revelations on Being a Nomad...

I’m feeling it all over again

Moving tends to prompt these emotions 

Such a terrible cycle I seem to lock myself into

In pursuit of my dreams, I inevitably seem to find pain and sorrow around the corner.

Of course

No one really has it all

I suppose I am a fool for believing that one day I can

Have the feeling of being settled

Even with family and friends spread across the globe

Embrace the comfort of knowing that in my imposed solitude

They will still be there when I return

Appreciate the thought of having a family one day and traveling the world 

But instead of focusing on catching my dreams

I stand side by side with my fears 

Again 

to return to the earmarked pages in the myriad of books I’ve read and reread the reason for their folded edges; to regain the feeling I experienced the first go ‘round; to recapture the moment(s) that made me laugh, smile, moan, groan, cry, and stare; to remember why I want to be a am a writer…

I can trust that when I wake up, I’ll have a shirt, pants, and shoes to cover my body 

I can trust that when I open my refrigerator, considering I went shopping, food will be available for me to cook, microwave, wash, or devour instantly

I can trust that when I approach the ATM, considering I didn’t embark on an uncharacteristic shopping spree, I’ll have money in my account to withdraw

I can trust that when I get in my car, assuming I’m under no negative influences - and even on several occasions when I have had misguided drunken trust - that I will arrive safely to my destination

But somehow I cannot trust that if I continue on this path, stay determined, I’ll be able to live (work) in my passion

I continually seek and need assurance

I have angst

frustration

doubts

I constantly exist in harmful timidity

convinced I’m a horrible writer

convinced that living a life with no dreams

no expectations

is sometimes better than living with so much

anxiety

(good thing I’m too stubborn to let anxiety completely thwart my path)

If my mind was without a filter, I would dream of everything unimaginable and believe it was all possible - achievable.

If my soul was without a filter, I would live without constantly being counter-intuitive and for once trust the voice that was placed inside of me for me to listen to.

If my heart was without a filter, I would love without being so damn selective; take more risks and feel less from the punch of rejection, which would in turn allow me to take more risks.

If my mouth was without a filter, I think I would cuss a f#@king, hell of a lot; not that I lack an extensive (or at least an average) vocabulary, but some words, more than others, are incapable of capturing the emotion as well as f*$k, sh#t, a**, and damn; and I would probably say what was on my mind more often - the mind without a filter.

If my eyes were without a filter, I would see everything as if I were seeing it anew, leaving me without predispositions about life and other beings.

Without a filter

or without a societal censor

that becomes learned behavior

to protect ourselves from

ourselves

& other people’s

tendencies to be judgmental, critical, dubious, and paranoid

I would be happier

lighter on my feet

nicer

allowing me to do and be

what I’m so afraid

of

doing and being

I wish I could

feel

how I always

feel

when I drink

wine

worries seem to fade

heartbeat actually seems normal

honesty seems to role off my tongue

(though not abrasively or menacingly)

the future is of no concern

and yesterday was simply a lesson learned

everyone is beautiful

including myself

and my confidence soars

to new heights

But eventually

my bloodstream is emptied of fantasy

and once again my worries resurface

heartbeat is filled with angst 

inhibitions block my honesty

mind is constantly fixed on tomorrow

yesterdays are filled with regrets

and every soul (especially mine) provokes some level of irritation

How to maintain a wine-state-of-mind

without the soothing taste and the threat of it no longer being a gift of relaxation, but a pathway to dependence

I thought today 

that maybe I would stay

where the hell would I go anyway?                                                                 

It never fails that sunny, warmer days in May, usher in a breeze that tickles my body and infiltrates my heart, and that’s how the itching starts.

But I hoped to stay this time, I told myself, as I lay in bed, mentally attempting to serves as my own spiritual ointment to sooth this itch. This itch that has pulled me from coast to coast, across oceans and mountains, passing faces of hunger, but stomachs still full on life, drifting by vistas and hearing stories that exuded peace, and love…

I searched. I learned. I ate. I fed. I lamented. I rejoiced. I died. I reawakened.

What do I do now? What’s next? Is any of this moving me closer to my destiny? Or is my destiny to be an eternal wanderer? Can I be a wanderer and still have focus? Still accomplish whatever it is fate is pushing me towards?

I don’t know what it means to settle, and that troubles me. Can I settle in my heart, but not in a location? Is there more peace in settling?

I have this itch; and it’s more real than the brisk Chicago wind that provokes tears and hinders their travel with its cold sting.

Should I stay?                                                                               

for me, at least, never the two shall meet

(…will have to save all of my random note taking on my crackberry for another day)

work pushes me to relax

…relax sometimes equals beer

beer blocks my creativity (for the written word, at least)

is this some type of capitalistic conspiracy

make every thinkable, packageable, legal “escape”

readily available to numb the pain

helps us forget

until we eventually abandon our own freeing thoughts

our imagination…

suppress the revolution (that always) follows

OR I could just be weak

easily tempted

…needless to say, beer & writing (for me) are not constructive companions

is it weird to be happy, more like overjoyed, for a person that has met someone they are absolutely smitten with

and that person they are absolutely smitten with is                                              you

?

(void of any narcissism, I hope) 

but somehow I have room enough to be grateful

…amazed they can exist in the same space

so comfortably (maybe too comfortably)