I am a wandering and a deeply unsettled soul.
After my move from Anchorage, Alaska, my home of over twenty years, I felt a particular emptiness as the holidays rolled around. The ache swelled in my chest as my birthday passed, with no one to wake me up with my favorite breakfast and no excitement, no party to look forward to. Halloween arrived with no plans and no friends to make them with; my night ended alone, in a last second costume and tears.
The company of the few I’ve met, older and drenched in tedium, provide the simple aspects of friendship. The short and quiet laughter between work shifts, the thin invitations out drinking, and the waves in the hallway. I have friends, but I have no one to immerse my life in.
Thanksgiving slowly inched closer and I found myself excited to get out of the little town I’d barely left in four months. Even the impending plane ride didn’t deter my enthusiasm to see familiar faces. The allure of childhood jokes and the confidence that accompanied this particular type of genuineness were overwhelming… until I reached the airport.
I’d been by myself for long enough that the idea terrified me. The concept of an assembled group of unstable, bickering, and unhappy women made me sick. No one’s company is good enough. All I want is my own.
What is home? Who is home? How do you recognize it? I’ve yet to find out, but I plan to through every exploited opportunity.