I was sitting at my desk this afternoon, the same desk I have had for 12 years, typing away on my computer and when I looked up I thought “Where am I”. I wasn’t sure right away, was I in Alexandria, no, wait I’m in Philadelphia. It’s all the same to me. Now that thought intrigued me.
It seems that now it doesn’t matter where I am – everywhere is just a place. I seem to have lost all attachment to places, or even things. We bought this house but I feel no differently about this house than all the others, which we rented. It’s just a house; a place; I live here. Tomorrow I could live in another place and it would all mean the same to me. It wouldn’t mean anything at all.
We’ve been here a month and I am used to where the stores are and how to get places, and so, it’s just a place. I belong, I don’t belong – it doesn’t matter, I’m comfortable being out and about.
I joined this Poetry Writing Workshop at the Senior Learning Center at Temple University. I made my way there last week, chit-chatted with people, plunked myself down in the classroom and had no hesitation about participating – and of the 14 people in the class – 11 of them and the teacher all know each other well.
It seems interesting to me because I didn’t use to be this way. I used to be very attached to places. And things. I hated moving. I hated change. It scared me. And in the past I would have been intimidated by that group of people, all chummy and friendly and me being an “outsider” .
It seems I just need a few things to anchor me – like my bed. It’s just a frame, a foundation and a mattress, but it’s familiar. I woke up the other morning, disoriented because I knew I was in my bed, I just wasn’t sure where the bed was! Once I figured out where I was, well that was okay. I swear, if I had discovered that me and my bed were in Baghdad, well, that would have been okay too.
Wherever I am, it seems, that’s where I belong, for the moment. If, in the next moment, I am somewhere else, well, then THAT’S where I belong. But I don’t belong any where forever. I have no more roots. I have no more attachment to places, and I’m fast losing my attachment to things.
I exist in the world, touching down here, or there, and it’s all the same. It’s the strangest realization. Nothing means anything special; everything is equal. The constants in my life are my friends, no matter where I go, they are still there for me. I can reach out, they are there. I drag the cats around with me, they adapt so well. My husband is here, and when he’s not, that’s okay, because he’ll be back…So it matters little where I physically am – I could walk out my front door tomorrow and be in Topeka, and I would just shrug my shoulders and say “Oh, well – here we are in Topeka” And I would go right on doing and living and being involved.
I find this very odd.