Mignon Maison

Recently, as in last week, I took a lovely little trip to sunny San Diego. It was quite fun, and I went alone, which was a bit of a shock for some people, but it was one sure way to make positive that I had as much fun as I wanted to have.  Part of going on vacation, for me at least, is the ability to eat when I am hungry, sleep when I am tired, and wear pants as little as possible. Those minor goals were achieved during this trip, and that makes me happy.

During my sojourn, a friend of mine text me and asked me 'when are you coming home?' I replied 'Sunday' but soon after I got to thinking that perhaps my friend had fallen into a similar trap that has snared the wolf that raised me.  That trap, one that assumes I have a 'home' to come back to, and one that I need to come back to. Neither of which is true. I realized that as I typed back my response. The realization that my 'home' as one would call it is, it exactly where I am at any given moment. Granted that doesn't include my office, or certain other public areas, but the truth of the matter is that I could have stayed in San Diego, and not missed one thing about my current 'home.'  Part of that might be the shit hole town that I live in, or the shit hole town that the wolf that raised me thinks I should call home, but the truth of the matter is that shit holes aside, I am a man that does not need to put down deep roots.

Those roots that a lot of people, and plants need in order to survive are not for me. For me they restrict, they restrict my movement, my thinking, my ability to breath, and all sorts of other things that I don't talk about in polite society (if I ever find myself in polite society).  These possessions that occupy my own grand maison are something that I can walk away from in 5 minutes flat. There are advantages to be a minimalist, and one of those is the ability to just turn your back and walk away. Of course, I did not stay in San Diego, and I caught my flight back to the city that I current call 'home' but there was that moment of regret as I boarded that aeroplane. That Sisyphus like moment when I realized that perhaps I could just turn away from my rock (in this case my life in this shit hole town), and be free from all of my so-called troubles. Not that my troubles are anything awful, and not something that anyone would be so frightened of as to run away from, but they are my troubles and they seem to have a great deal of sticking power. 

Troubles are like that, they have the ability to stick around and withstand your best attempt to solve them. After all, if I could solve them, then they would not be my troubles anymore. I am quite sure a new set of troubles would rise up to replace any of the ones I managed to solve, and thus the circle of life for troubles at least would continue. Perhaps troubles and I have one huge difference, a difference that binds us together more tightly the more I struggle against them. Perhaps, unlike me, my troubles have put down roots, and are here to stay.