I'm a jumble of emotions, sitting in my black nightie and creme cable sweater in the lounge of my hostel, surrounded by six other backpackers who are reading or speaking German. Sheryl Crow's on the radio. It's soothing music, but I cannot be soothed. It's not anything specific, just a series of slips that are collectively leaving me feeling out of control.
Do I need to go home? What is home anyway?
Herman Hesse says, "One never reaches home, but wherever friendly paths intersect, the whole world looks like home for a while."
The whole world has looked like home for a while. But is it time for my roots to be under my feet and my family at my side?
I'm still thinking of that prediction, "You're trying to look relaxed even though you have one foot on a dock and one foot on a boat as the boat pulls away. It seems likely that any minute now you'll have to commit yourself to either the dock, the boat, or the water." It really does feel that way.
Which way do I go? When does life ever calm down? Who knows all the answers?