That Sense of Belonging

I can't see myself staying for more than two years, five at most;
living in Canada isn't required either. I’m not sure what happened to my roots and, truth be told, lately I’ve been thinking that physically and mentally I don’t believe I really belong anywhere.

As I rule, I have one tote bin I trudge with me from house to house that I fill with cherished possessions that come with no value to anyone but me. Each of these items scream 'Kirstin!' and have a story attached to it. I’ve been wrapping that speckle coloured vase in my well-loved scarves since even before I left my hometown. I also have an old barn wood picture frame containing a freshly captured memory from the previous summer, of my three favorite Bushbabes. I don’t have a modern day chesterfield that comes on The Move, but I do have a spoon used specifically for my coffee each morning and can’t bear to part with it.

I’ve almost completed that Adulting task that I’ve promised myself I would perform before I began to allow myself to look into plane tickets and the more serious details of my next adventure.  From this accomplishment, I’m going through my book collection and trying to sort out those meant for the reused shed, and those that will go back to live at my moms and join the considerable amount of books already residing there. I’ll see my mom in April and so I’ll send with her a duffelbag full of Big Girl clothes and those damn books that I just can’t seem to part with.

In Canada, I haven’t met that many people who share my nomadic lifestyle; I do love visiting my sisters and a close girlfriend, who have a lovely family life. It’s almost as though I get to play dress up for an evening or weekend when I’m invited over. I get to pet their dogs and chase around their kids, while sipping on tried and true wine that we drink during and after the planned out meal. This noise and busyness, the full house and even the associated chores pertain some of my favorite moments. There are the few occasions that I find myself aching for my own home such as this, with the chesterfield and multiple tote bins and maybe even a little less trudging around.  But I’ve realized that perhaps what I’m really seeking is some sort of common ground. I want to find other people who invest in plane tickets rather than wallpaper and who ask for presents that will only fit in their backpack, not their closet. I take refuge in a collection of memoirs and short stories, which, when I began to realize I wanted and needed this gypsy lifestyle, the pages of these books is where I found those other people who inhabited my standard of living. When I read about female writers hiking the Camino Del Santiago or experiencing the West Coast Trail I can’t help feel that these girls know exactly what wand and need. My soul feels happiness when I’m plowing through the memoir of a Female Nomad or when I read Elizabeth Gilbert's account on going to a meditation retreat in India soon after she disposes her nuclear lifestyle. I have this fierce urge to go to a foreign country and focus solely on my Yoga Practice as the author Yoga Bitch can surely relate to. Right now, my favorite book is Wild.

When I mentioned to my dear friend that I may have to move, yet again, she told me that she talked about it to her Partner (she hates that terms about as much as I love it) and I am welcome to move into the spare bedroom. I was very surprised by such kindness. To me it was not only an invitation to be a part of her family’s life, but to be a part of her family, even if it’s for only a little while. When I insist on paying my sister for cleaning my house each and every time I move, she sternly promises me (as only Megan could) that it’s not necessary, and when I come back from my travels Hugo and I will have a place to live, should I need it, and it’s not because I watch my Niece or pay her to clean, but because I’m her sister and she is my family. Both sisters have said this.

From a lifestyle perspective I can enjoy playing dress up and trying on a role in their household and both my sisters and my girlfriend are curious about all of my one-year plans and can appreciate my flightiness. We may not share the same desires out of life, but this kindness provides a new understanding on what belonging means.

Kindly,

Kirstin

If you don't see the book on the shelf that you want, write it [the same goes with your life].- Beverly Cearly