Yesterday, I was lamenting, loudly, to anyone who would listen to me about the fact that somehow I’ve landed and become fully ensconced in suburban life.

This is the longest I’ve lived anywhere since I was a kid at home. Even then, I think I’m breaking records with the exclusion of the first 12 years of my life in GC.

I’ve got the itch. I’m starting to feel somewhat smothered. My friend Caren said it’s the siren song of the spring, to want to pack up life and head to the island for a summer of slave labor and debauchery. That was 20 years ago. Why is it that I still feel the strong urge to pull up stakes and head somewhere else?

When I came back to DFW, it was never in the plans to be permanent dwelling. I came back to recover from the last life failures, figure a few things out, and then onwards to the next place. I started traveling heavily with a fair amount of time being spent NOT here. I honestly fell into this life without really trying. It just organically came to fruition.

Now, years later, I sit on my front porch on Lavender Lane. I stare at the gardens, the porch, the rocking chairs that need to be refinished, and I feel a strong apathy to all of the things. Yesterday, I walked through the house thinking about what crap I actually would keep versus just easily donate if I wanted to make the next move.

The next move feels closer than it has in years. My head isn’t in the game anymore. The one thing I have done right in the past decade is to build a career that isn’t dependent on being in an office. Instead, I can work just about wherever as long as I have a computer and a decent WiFi connection.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always thought I would pack up my stuff and move back to Michigan at some point. Reentry into whence I came. It doesn’t feel right anymore. It feels like a step backward instead of a step forward. Perhaps at some point, I will actually commit to having a summer house in northern Michigan, but at this point, I daresay that the move back to the mitten has a low probability of happening.

I have a short list of places that I would entertain relocating to. None of them feel quite right yet. Clearly, my head isn’t quite there yet, but it’s not quite here either.

It’s as if I’m in a perpetual limbo just waiting to determine the next “where.”

I’m ready for my next adventure. My next gypsy journey. In the meantime, while I figure out where I want to be, I’m going to be hitting the road often. To clear my head, to gain some clarity. Onwards to Austin, North Dakota, California, Michigan, and Colorado. I’ve got some exploring to do.

I can’t help but add this monstrosity: