Currently writing this en route to Texas…. The boy still calls it home, I don’t. Washington isn’t even “home” to me to be honest. I feel like at the moment we are on a path to visit places, and we haven’t decided what that means yet.

Definition of home:

1. The place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household
2. An institution for people needing professional care or supervision

Let that sink in. No, seriously. Let. That. Sink. In.

I have no home. I have a current dwelling place with two dudes that get me. They legit get me. Where they are I will be. But the clock is ticking on that one. The boy will eventually be leaving us. Christian’s travel life can be a trying time. I have to be comfortable in myself.

The majority of you don’t know this space. My grandparents dwell here. It’s new to them. I won’t even say they like it. I should ask them. Their belongings, once possessions of older relatives, situated in this foreign space are new to them. And it feels cold here.

I feel like an outsider when I visit. As I should because I don’t live here. To me it only makes sense to capture myself in a space that also screams “you are an outsider.” eventually I’m sure we will all find our comfort.