I never really had a home. Not a birthplace where I can say I grew up, not even an actual house where I spent enough time for me to consider it home. I guess what I’m saying is I don’t have a specific place where I associate enough crucial memories for me to consider it home. My home would be spread out over dozens of places. By the way, I’m a military brat who has moved at least every four years since I was born.
I don’t ever picture myself having a home. I was born a wanderer, and I feel like that’s how I’ll stay.
Though if I were to ever settle in an area, you know pick a place where I want to die, then I guess the type of house I’d want would be a three bedroom small house. That way I could have an art studio and a study. Or I guess maybe a two bedroom with a basement or attic. Or a one bedroom with both. All I know is home is where I have everything I need to live in a particular place for more than five years.
But will I ever find a place like that? Where my restless spirit can finally find peace? I don’t know. I may just spend my entire life traveling, moving every five years till I’m too old and sick to move anymore.
Who knows what my future holds but it’ll work out. As long as I go through life with good intentions, then I should find peace and happiness. I don’t know in what form it’ll take, but as long as I thirst for a rememberable life and make moves to accomplish it, then I can die content.
-High Ramblings of a Stoner