The true traveler is he who goes on foot, and even then, he sits down a lot of the time.
It's not Thanksgiving or New Year's Eve or somesuch nostalgia-laden holiday. Rather it's another ordinary unordinary day in the life I lead here, where I'm separated latitudinally from everyone I love (minus spawn of course). Melancholy, she is a wickedly persistent mistress (think Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction) and dogs me even in the new hemisphere. But there's just cause.
Sometimes I think I'm insane to be so far away from everyone. Is the experience worth it? I am not always sure. This drive I have (which I've always had) to be a stranger wherever I am, to not belong, can be a real bitch. It forces me to uproot and cast my wandering eye long and wide in search of the elusive anything but here... surely the clichéd battle cry of a broken person.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying I regret my decision to come here. It's more complicated than that. It's just that at the end of the day, no matter where you are, the only thing that stands out are the people nearby. And if the people nearby aren't the ones you love because you hauled ass 6,000 miles away, then you got some 'splaining to yourself to do.
Maybe what I should take from all of this is simply how lucky I am to have a wonderfully funny, unconditionally loving, and amusingly dysfunctional family--extended and core. I'd be insane not to miss that, right?
Disclaimer: I heart the men (i.e., father, brother, brother-in-law, cousins' husbands, sister's living-in-sin partner) in my life just as much as I do the women. Unfortunately, they're harder to herd into a group and memorialize by photo.