In October it will have been 3 years since I left my apartment in Crown Heights and set off on some kind of adventure.
So much has happened in those three years. I’m tired and frankly I’m falling apart mentally and physically. I’ve never felt more alive, more happy, more put together. I’ve never felt more focus or love.
But still, I’m losing touch. No home and a string of strained relationships. Car bills and frustration. I think I’m ready to stop. Get rid of the car and get a place in NYC again. Start to build something, at least for a little while. Have a room that is *mine* with a door I can lock and leave behind. Having space that isn’t borrowed. Having time as an open ended question, knowing where I’ll sleep tomorrow.
The more I chew on it the more I like it.
I ran away from home because I wasn’t being intentional with it. I haven’t been intentional with my travels either. Though I feel like I’ve learned how to be intentional. I feel that I’m ready to do this whole living in a place thing right.