Day 270, my Covid-era life on the road has finally come to a rather sudden end.
During the 3000-mile rush towards something I can tangibly call home, as I was passing by the places where I packed so much memories, the volume of thoughts flashed through my mind left the car on auto pilot. (No my car doesn’t really have that feature.)
In Nomadland it says “ I don’t ever say a final goodbye. Let’s just say, ‘I’ll see you down the road.’ And I do. I see them again.” Somehow to me what that means is I don’t have to fear losing something if I’ve never had it to begin with. And now I’m rushing towards where it all started, where I had nothing to begin with, where it will come to an end.
There is a yearning desire in human nature for meanings, for the consensus has long been reached that only a fool would pursuit without it. Sadly it took me so long to realize so often meanings are not for me to discover but rather to make up. I don’t set out on a journey because I want to get somewhere or find something. I leave simply because I’m without a reason to stay. After that, along the way, somewhere I will run into stunning views, will meet intriguing people, will hear jaw-dropping stories, when that happens I get to tell myself “this is why we get here” so I don’t feel like a running fool.
As if I could forget without a home travel is not travel. Without a home to go back to, I’m just living a vagabond’s life.
Wandering Husky 