Sagittarius - The Wanderer
I'm a Sagittarius. Not a typical one, though. I'm not physically active like we're supposed to be, and I'm far from an extrovert. The thing Saggies are best known for, though, is wanderlust. We're stereotypically never satisfied, never content to stay in one place, with one group of people, preferring instead to travel, have no roots.
I unwillingly had a childhood that would fit that description. Before high school I only spent two consecutive grades in the same school once. I inevitably made best friends when I already knew I was leaving, when there was nothing to lose.
I learned a great deal with such a childhood, valuing the things I took with me more than the places to which I took them. The toy I'd had for six moves was more important to me than the classmates I was leaving.
As I grew and reached adolescence, I learned that even the toys I had had no value - that if I sold all my Transformers, I wouldn't be worse off. I started valuing my friends because of the inevitability of their departure. Or mine. Transience was inevitable, nothing was permanent. My parents and pet cat Stripy were the only constant. As I moved from high school to college, from childhood to adulthood, Stripy died and my parents got divorced. The final illusion of permanence shattered in a very direct way.
So, in the end, maybe it makes sense that I don't wander. Why bother, when my life does it for me? Yet there's a small part of me, that occasionally has asked the questions:
What would happen if you just grabbed some basic things, threw them in a backpack and started walking? How long would it be before someone noticed? How would they react when they did? Would anyone look for me? Would they wonder what became of me? Or would I leave no trail, a phantom, a wisp, here for a while and then gone like a dream fading upon waking?
Most of me thinks I'll never do such a thing. Part of me thinks I inevitably will. That part, recently, has amended its plans.
I may disappear one day, wander the Earth, learning what I can, teaching what I know, and leaving nothing behind except in the memories of those I've met. But if I do it, I won't be doing it alone. I may not have roots, but my trunk is tangled with another one. So much so that it's impossible to tell where one of us ends and the other begins anymore.
Even this, I know, is transient. But it's on the same scale as my life. I suppose that's as close to permanent as a human can ever really get while alive.
I unwillingly had a childhood that would fit that description. Before high school I only spent two consecutive grades in the same school once. I inevitably made best friends when I already knew I was leaving, when there was nothing to lose.
I learned a great deal with such a childhood, valuing the things I took with me more than the places to which I took them. The toy I'd had for six moves was more important to me than the classmates I was leaving.
As I grew and reached adolescence, I learned that even the toys I had had no value - that if I sold all my Transformers, I wouldn't be worse off. I started valuing my friends because of the inevitability of their departure. Or mine. Transience was inevitable, nothing was permanent. My parents and pet cat Stripy were the only constant. As I moved from high school to college, from childhood to adulthood, Stripy died and my parents got divorced. The final illusion of permanence shattered in a very direct way.
So, in the end, maybe it makes sense that I don't wander. Why bother, when my life does it for me? Yet there's a small part of me, that occasionally has asked the questions:
What would happen if you just grabbed some basic things, threw them in a backpack and started walking? How long would it be before someone noticed? How would they react when they did? Would anyone look for me? Would they wonder what became of me? Or would I leave no trail, a phantom, a wisp, here for a while and then gone like a dream fading upon waking?
Most of me thinks I'll never do such a thing. Part of me thinks I inevitably will. That part, recently, has amended its plans.
I may disappear one day, wander the Earth, learning what I can, teaching what I know, and leaving nothing behind except in the memories of those I've met. But if I do it, I won't be doing it alone. I may not have roots, but my trunk is tangled with another one. So much so that it's impossible to tell where one of us ends and the other begins anymore.
Even this, I know, is transient. But it's on the same scale as my life. I suppose that's as close to permanent as a human can ever really get while alive.