It Ain't Easy, Livin' Like a Gypsy

Especially when confined by the restraints of money and obligations and responsibilities.

Nope, it ain't easy at all.

And I am indeed a gypsy in my soul. I've mentioned this before. Once, or twice, or a hundred-million times...

I am restless.

I need to be somewhere - other.

My children are in school. My husband has a career. I even have a couple jobs now myself. We have friends here, a house; all the makings of a home. Home is good, right? Home is what we strive for. So why am I so restless?

Perhaps it's as simple as us not having any vacations planned this year.

Perhaps it's because I've lived here longer than I've lived anywhere. I've lived here almost as many years as I lived in my childhood home. After I left that home, I never lasted more than three years in one location. Sometimes it was just a move to a new apartment, but always there was a move, a change, a shift. And always there was travel. When there was no money for an actual vacation there were friends who had migrated to different places, and I was never adverse to crashing on a sofa.

My house has the feel of something unfinished. It's like I've never actually settled in here and made it my own. I don't completely want to. The world is my home; this place I live now is just a house. I have no energy for it. I have no love for it. I wish I did. I give it just about nothing and it gives me just about the same in return. I envy people with beautiful homes - homes that reflect who they are. I have a house. God, I hope my house doesn't reflect who I am. I think I'm afraid that if I actually loved a place I lived, I'd never want to leave it.

And I always want to leave.

I don't want to leave my husband or kids - I don't want anyone, least of all them to think that. Billy Joel said it better than I ever could in his 1973 song, You're My Home:

Well I never had a place that I could call my very own, but that's alright my love 'cause you're my home.

He even refers to "the crazy gypsy in my soul" in that song. Oh, Billy, you know me better than I know myself. Well, Billy Joel circa the mid-seventies/early eighties knew me better than I knew myself. Then he married that Uptown Girl and we were no longer really on the same track anymore. I think he went changin' to try to please her, I don't know. And look how THAT turned out.

But I've digressed.

Yes, my family is my home, and I want them around me, but I want them around me somewhere - other.

I am so over - here.

I just finished reading The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner. In this book, he visits ten countries in search of geographical bliss. One of the many conclusions he came to - and one that really resonated with me - was that there is no one perfect place to live, although there might be a perfect place for any given individual to live. Some people and places click - they fit. Some people fit in different places at different times. I believe that is me. When I think of the places I'm happiest, I'm almost certain I wouldn't be happy there if I stayed a decade or so. Maybe I use places up, I don't know.

I do know that I am restless.

I laughed right out loud when Mr. Weiner stated:

As any poet (or blogger) knows, misery expressed is misery reduced.

Indeed. And I am not miserable. Now that the sun is back and I'm on a more positive job track, I'm downright content, if not full-on happy.

No, I am not miserable.

But I am restless.

Perhaps restlessness expressed is restlessness reduced.

I'll let you know.