Throughout my whole life since I ran away from home for the first time when I was 12 years old with my bicycle, three dollars, the clothes I was wearing, and my transistor radio, through the second time when I was 14 years old and with my friend and one dollar between us we managed to make it nearly two thousand miles towards the west coast hitchhiking, to the final departure at seventeen, I’ve always traveled light with as few attachments to “stuff” and the material world as I could.
Today, at 55, I’m moving once again. I woke up at 6 AM to start packing. It’s now 8 AM. I’m nearly done packing, but the surprising thing is that once again I’ve thrown into the garbage can as much as I’ve packed, with it has gone some of the cobwebs in my mind that I find once again have collected and I don’t need, and still what’s left will barely fit into my friends SUV about an hour from now.
The strange, mysterious, and what I think shouldn’t be but always is surprising thing is that an old familiar friend who hides right in front of my nose has just suddenly re-appeared that I sometimes forget about for long periods while living in any one particular place, and looking around the living room at the stack of boxes I again feel wonderfully light on my feet with anticipation of the umpteenth new start in my life!
I’m going to shut down this computer in the next hour, but I should be back up online within a day or so, and I might even drop in via a friends computer this afternoon.