I’ve been feeling homeless a while–not the kind of homelessness that has one sleep in doorways and eating out of dumpsters–but completely detached from my last home. I guess not being at home for three and a half months can have that effect on a person. And I’m quite thankful for the various roofs that I’ve had over my head the last several months.
About a decade ago, while I was training to be a life coach, I participated in a visualization exercise where I met my future self. She looked a little like my mom, she wore comfy white clothes, and was at that moment living in India. I remember the beige palette of the abode and the surroundings with the exception of the peeling forest green paint of the wooden trim. There was also a fairly overwhelming farm animal smell when I went outside.
The homeless feeling that I had in the visualization was interesting. I was living in the home of someone I had met and was completely content to be there, in a home that wasn’t mine. The furnishings were pretty simple, but adequate, and not particularly clean. It was just a place to be….to sleep…to eat…to visit with friends. I was completely detached. It didn’t matter to me that I didn’t have belongings. I didn’t feel that I was missing anything.
I am curious to know what it is like to have the tools that one needs to live comfortably, and not have the extra stuff that inevitably just gets stored, or worse, gets in the way. I’ve never made it to that line, but I’m going to look for it, as this nomad roams to California.