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Where I Live

One of the bad things about having a blog is the realization that this slow, monotonous life, very often reveals little to us. Change is something most of us don't want, despite our declarations of love for adventure and new beginnings. When we look back, at times the painful reality of having this blog, we realize that change rarely occurs from us seeking it. Change simply happens to us, very rarely in an instant, but gradually sneaking up on us over time. Usually, we are not even aware it has happened.

I've written about my move, my loathing of fireworks, my fear for our country, my worries for those I'd love to help and my wishes, desires and everything in between. Having this blog, has made me realize those wishes don't often change and my lack of desire may be the culprit. All that being said, the true void in my life is a sense of home. I've written about how I never felt of my town of Eastchester as home. When I finally did move out on my own, I was never home. I didn't like opening the door to my apartment and in over a decade, I never really had a guest. The move three years ago was not a good one and has continued to leave me feeling as if I'm lost, living some nomadic life, minus the movement. I feel trapped when my landlords are home and the little freedom I get from being outside, walking barefoot in the grass as my cat stalks my footsteps, is quickly erased by the sounds of microwaves, cell phones and a loud TV. How can someone who desires so little, be left wanting?

Yesterday, I went for a ride. I purposely tried to get lost and I wasn't sure why, until I woke this morning. I wanted to get lost, so that when I found my way, happening upon a familiar sight, I'd have that feeling. That feeling of relief, of being home. As I wandered down roads, with small farms, plows, cows and silos a plenty, I breathed in the air. I was happy being lost. I could have been content to stay there for a while, maybe forever. I made a turn, down an unfamiliar road, returned the wave of two men sitting on beach chairs drinking a late morning beer. I made a right and then a left and suddenly I was in familiar territory. As I approached where I live, I made the turn onto the quiet road, into this mini community of nearly identical homes, their droll grey tones matching the feeling within me. I pulled into my space, turned off the car and sat. No relief. No peace. No home. Just the place where I live.

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