Monday, September 06, 2010

This Vagabond Life

I am moving again.This move is not across time zones, only the Hills borough bridge - from Stratford to Charlottetown. I am, nevertheless, filled with that familiar mix of anxiety and excitement that always accompanies transition.

Transition.

I turned 30 last month. And while I won't deny that I entered my fourth decade with a smidgen of trepidation, a good dollop of indulgent self-criticism and far too many glasses of gwertz, in the end it was just another birthday. No more or less defining of who I am than any other day.

But I have been thinking a lot about change lately, about transition and transformation. Right now, at this very moment in time, my life seems to be in limbo. Nothing is ever certain, of that I am aware, but to be in such a state of flux that you feel utterly paralyzed is hard on the mind, the soul and the body. Case in point, over the past three weeks I have managed to pack on five pounds. I am not sure how, as I've not been overly gluttonous. I have thus concluded that the stress I can feel pulsing through my veins is literally weighing me down. It's weighing down my body and my spirit. I have reached a point where I am literally craving some certainty (or the closest thing to it), a routine, some mundane-ness. I find myself overly preoccupied with knowing what the future holds for me, worrying that the decisions I make now will have repercussions I cannot foresee.

This has been my story for the past eight years - I have been a vagabond, ceaselessly moving from place to place and job to job, regularly throwing myself into the unknown with hopes that I will find new truths about life, the world, myself. This vagabond life has served me well. I am stronger and happier for having taken the long way round.

But when I moved back to PEI in May it was because I knew I needed familiarity and there is nothing that compares to the sense of comfortable belonging that I feel when I am on the Island.
And yet, here I am, three months after my return home and I am still not settled. Stability eludes me. Perhaps it is not meant to be, perhaps I am meant to continue this vagabond life. Or maybe I just need to be patient, stop worrying, and let it be.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

The blood of a vagabond will always run through you! Once you settle, and you will, you will get that itch again. No, not THAT itch, the itch to travel! There is nothing wrong with putting down roots and there's nothing with being a vagabond, just make sure that whatever you do, you make friends, and make an effort to stay in touch with them!

-TC

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