I think I've reached the intermission stage of moving. You know, that stage where you don't quite belong anywhere.
As of March 1, I will have lived in the great craphole of ABQ for nine months. Is it starting to feel like home? No. But Tucson is no longer home, either.
I am homeless.
Or, at least I feel like it. There is some deep desire in my being to have roots somewhere, to belong (obviously, my modern human heritage is not from the nomadic peoples), and I feel rootless right now.
Or perhaps, the problem is not that I lack roots. Perhaps my roots are spread out so far, I can hardly comprehend it. I have friends scattered across the Continental US, not to mention a certain individual who I love deeply who is battling the monkey pox and malnutrition in the DRC. And by friends, I don't mean someone who I know of---I mean friends, people who I speak to on a weekly basis (sometimes daily).
My net has been cast far and wide; to some degree, I believe I can call Phoenix, Seattle, L.A., St. Louis, Providence, DC, Naugatuck, Williamsburg, New York, Fairfax, Manassas and Tucson home because people who I love deeply reside there.
So at this intermission of my life, this lull between leaving my old home and making my new, when I am looking around me, digging frantically in the dirt of ABQ, nuturing my tree, begging it to take root, I need to pause and thank all the homes I have out there, the friends and family with their arms and homes open wide, loving me and supporting me.
You know who you are.