The day that I was fired from my job I gave notice that I would be moving out of this apartment. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t want to be here, and if I wasn’t working, why should I stay? I was clearly way too over-confident in thinking that I would have everything sorted out in one-month’s time.
Here we are 27 days later and I don’t have any more answers now than I had the day I gave my notice. I’m packing my things, cleaning my apartment and getting ready to become a stow-away/couch surfer/mooch from everyone I know.
In the truest, societal definition of the sense, I am not ‘homeless’. I won’t be on the streets. I won’t be in dire straights not knowing where my next meal will come from. Thankfully, I do have some extremely wonderful and loving people in my life whom I know will make sure I have a place to sleep during this awkward transition I seem to be going through. That being said, it’s going to be weird to be of no fixed address. To not have my things and my bed and say I am going home to my place at the end of each day. Maybe I’ll get used to that. Maybe I’ll even like that. It might be nice to have nothing to tie one’s-self down.
The one thought that has remained constant during the past 27 days is the desire to travel. I have the most intense, urgent desire to up and leave everything behind and see the world. I want to take beautiful photos, eat exhilarating foods and spend all of my savings just living. Truly living.
Perhaps I’m wrong. But then again we’re all allowed to make our own definitions of what it means to truly live. I can’t shake this feeling though that there’s got to be more out there for me than a cubicle with my name on it.
Maybe I don’t need a fixed address. Maybe what I need is out there… somewhere in this world that I have yet to travel.
Question of the day: where’s your ideal travel destination?