How Far Away Is Here?

I've said this before, but the act of getting yourself together and packing your life in boxes that you may not see for years, if ever again, seems interminably hard for me. The more I get things wrapped up and gone from sight the poorer I feel. And then I'm not talking exactly moneywise. I just feel so stripped. I tried to explain this before, but however trivial or mundane my belongings may appear I still have to plead guilty to leaning on them for support, confort, sense of self and history. How will I do when I find myself in a new place, new country, with new people, new circumstances and new rules without anything familiar to cling to.

You can say that my flat is lousy (sure, it's small), that my furniture's not classy (and it isn't - it's also completely unassorted), that my equipment isn't the best of the best, that my plants are dry, that my wardrobe is outdated, that my books are eccentric and that my music is lame. But they're mine, and I'm comfortable with them, they speak to me, and finally: it is home.

And home is not something I am likely to find in the next few years. It's more likely to be sort of a 'vagabondage'. Which is fun and exciting and all that, sure. Just not cozy, not comfortable and not home.

I feel ashamed to have lost the sense of adventure, the desire for new things and the thrill for the unknown. I feel a little discouraged to be engaging now in the same journey as 18 years ago, although this time with a little more experience in my backpack, but more responsibilities. I wonder if I'll have the same survival abilities and the same stamina as then to make it all the way. And all this after stripping myself of my past, saying goodbye to people, places and things I know, goodbye to the souvenirs I've collected, to my little nest and to my security.

Because I want to be with this guy. And he will make it up to me, oh, sure. But in the meantime it's no use even trying to have him understand why this process requires efforts and pain on my behalf. When he's as totally self sufficient as I am not. And I feel petty even to be having these thoughts of regret and nostalgia for everything I'm leaving behind. While he will be happy wherever he is and whatever he has, as long as he has a good scientific problem to turn around in his head. And I will be missing my balcony view, my bookshelves, my downtown stroll, my photo albums, my milk foam, my bathtub, my postcards and stupid things like that. Am I a material girl??