Home
Home. I have travelled around the world searching for a home. In certain cities, with certain people, in certain neighborhoods within the same city. As I take concrete steps to change my home once again, I am struck by how much this place has come to feel like home. I came to feel at home quickly here when I moved in six years ago and it has felt like home ever since. It feels uncomfortable to be taking steps to tear myself away, even if reason tells me it is the right decision. It is not easy to wield power over one’s emotions.
I think the reason I feel so conflicted about this set of atoms, an attachment to physical possessions, is I haven’t strengthened and clearly defined my “why.” I’ve certainly defined it, wrote it out, spoke with three separate people about it already. Despite that, I haven’t quite convinced myself or internalized it. The Why is financial independence, retiring early, creating a six figure passive income. Freedom to go anywhere and do anything whenever I want, without having to report to a job. As nice and necessary as these sound, somehow they’re still not strong enough for me to feel passionate about them. More likely candidates are the fact that my parents are only getting older and brother is only getting crazier. I feel I should be “back home” spending time with them. This is probably the strongest argument for why I should pursue my plan. But even that is debatable whether that overcomes the discomfort that comes with uprooting myself and tossing myself out onto the street in the middle of a pandemic. Ugh, how frustrating. It’s like a no win situation.