One of my former boyfriends had a painting in his living room of a cockroach and the words "MOVING, KEEPING STRONG." I think about that canvas all the time, especially since I took off last July to do a long spell of traveling. Somehow, those words perfectly capture the sentiment that drove me on this crazy trek around the globe in the first place. Somewhere in my DNA is a drive to go every time my sanity is threatened...a primal nomadic instinct...a strong proclivity for the "flight" side of "fight or flight"...an ear that's carefully attuned to the call of my wild self's need for escape. Sadly, this is a characteristic that puts me solidly in the company of gypsies, vagabonds and aging hipsters with a fear of commitment, none of which are particularly romantic figures.
When I'm not in one of my moving phases, I feel a very feminine pull to put down some roots, make a cozy home, cultivate community and stay put. But then the wind changes direction and all those roots get pulled clean up and I'm off again. Like clockwork, this happens every couple of years. It is a call that I cannot deny and I never see it coming until it's there and all I know is that I need to leave, NOW. So that's what I did for the last year, by far my longest moving phase to date. And now I'm back in California, looking for a job in San Francisco, dreaming of my own apartment and garden, salivating over the perfect couch and my own little kitchen. I'm having an existential crisis about this blog. Not that there aren't lots of great food adventures to be had in northern California, but "Staying & Eating" isn't quite as glamorous. And so, the eternal question: to blog or not to blog.
Just keep blogging. You know what they say about the unexamined life.
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