Simplicity. Serendipity. Synchronicity. -- Buckinghamshire, England

It's been over ten months of travel for me.

Ten months of living in other people's homes.

Of instability, insecurity, "immaturity".

Of simplicity, serendipity, synchronicity.

In ten months, I've been asked more times than I'd care to count,

"When will you stop? When will you start the real life?"

I've answered time for time,

"I don't intend to stop. This is my real life."

I've heard the caring, condescending,

"You're young. Things will change."

so often that I grit my teeth in anticipation.

Who are you to tell me that I'll grow out of my dream? 

Perhaps it will will morph into something else

(as dreams often do).

If it morphs, modifies, mutates, I hope I'll have learned to flow well enough to let the river carry me where it will.

Without resistence.

Without fear.

With appreciation for the new landscape through which I slowly serpentine.

For now?

This is my life.

Instability, insecurity, "immaturity".

Simplicity, serendipity, synchronicity.

I thought I'd exploit the ten month occasion by writing a short post about what it's like to always share space.

To live in situations wherein one must always --

Compromise.

Be acutely aware of boundaries.

Fit through someone else's door.

Situations that make one realize the routines, commodities, liberties one takes for granted in the comfort of their own homes and communities.

Your Bathroom

I am sure you take your bathroom for granted.

Absolutely positive.

Do you know what it's like to share a space wherein the only bathroom is ensuite to your host's bedroom?

Do you know what it's like to wake up at 4 o'clock in the morning, BURSTING to use the loo --

-- but realize that you have to wait until 7 o'clock because your host won't be up and about until then?

You start crawling under the covers thirsty.

Because it's better to go to bed thirsty than have to pee for three hours every morning.

Your Fridge

Perhaps you don't take the fridge for granted. 

Perhaps you've always been aware of shared fridge etiquette. 

This is a bit different than your stint of living with roommates in university, though. 

In university, you probably made the milk run occasionally. 

You might have even chipped in for cheese. 

Or bought bacon. 

Hence, you felt the right to open the fridge and sniff around. 

Yes? 

Nothing in there is mine. 

Is what I think when I see the shelves full of food.

Do you know what it's like to always question whether or not you worked hard enough that day to earn the right to open your fridge door? 

Do you flinch when your host walks into the kitchen and sees you gazing at the Camembert? 

"Umm... just... looking... at what I can help make for dinner. Yes. That's what I'm looking for." 

"Yes, well, we're having leftovers." 

"Right." 

Your Health

You probably don't take your health for granted. 

At least, I hope you don't. 

But you know what you might take for granted? 

The ability to eat the food that makes you feel good. 

To exercise how you need --

-- in a routine you've established to suit your lifestyle. 

But what if your fridge changes every month? What if as soon as you find a place to run, you abandon your winding trail through the woods for a chaotic city of 40 million people where road running would result in roadkill? What if every month, your routine turns arse over tits you have to start all over again?

Finding the motivation to persevere, state my needs and stick to my guns is slightly more difficult than a piece of cake.

I'm just... tired. I'll do better next month. Maybe I'll have more freedom to set my own schedule when I'm in Germany. 

 Your Time

Do you like your boss? 

Yes? 

Great. 

Think about what it would be like to live with this boss. 

...

......

Are you able to relax? Enjoy your book whilst reclining on the couch? Leave your coffee cup on the table? Let a pot soak on the stove overnight? Realize that you've accidentally left a light on (or the front door unlocked) without feeling a minor panic attack?  

I'm not. Not yet, anyway. 

Do you like your boss? 

No?

Dude. Total bummer. 

Think what it would be like to live with this boss. 

I try to mitigate the awkwardness by either being unabashedly straight-forward or by kowtowing completely.

"I work better when I have a schedule. Set jobs and a set time to do them." 

I say as soon as I enter someone's house.

"Well, how about you be in charge of lunch, dinner and cleaning up the sitting room?" 

Is an illustration of a typical response. 

"Aimee, could you clean the toilet? Could you watch the children? Could you --?"

Is what tends to happen when I finish my work and am writing my blog. Or practicing yoga. Or painting a postcard.

My time is never mine. This is the ultimate example of "taking work home". 

Your TOUCH

Do you have someone you can touch?

Someone who cherishes your hugs, kisses, caresses? 

Someone you can snuggle up with on the couch -- 

-- and share a blanket and a bowl of popcorn? 

Do you have a cat you can cuddle? 

A mom you can hug and smell the familiar scent of family detergent? 

Well. 

I feel the earth beneath my feet. 

I feel the wind against my face. 

I feel the sun warming my skin. 

But my f*cking detergent changes every month

And my mother is across the Atlantic ocean. 

Your Pajamas/Sweatpants/Slippers and Other Fat/Sick Day Comfort Clothes

What do you do when you're sick? 

Drink your favorite tea? 

Curl up on the couch with your favorite blanket

In your comfiest pajamas

And watch your favorite tv show until you finally fall asleep? 

My fat/sick day comfort clothes = my flimsy blue sarong.

Which doubles, triples, quadruples as my pajamas and going out to fancy dinner dress.

Fat pants are to my wardrobe as bacon is to my diet. This does not indicate a direct correlation between the two... it just means I use them when I'm feeling blue and am disappointed when they're not around. 

 

Your Sense of Humor

Inside jokes aren't funny when you're the only person inside. 

By the time ins are established, it's generally time to be off. 

The People Who Make it Hard

The people who make you feel like part of a family

but in an inferior way. 

The people who tell you all the things you can't eat in the fridge

because they're saving the "best bits" for someone else. 

The people who zone out to television you can't understand

night after night after night

and consider "cultural exchange" 

to be a one way street. 

The people who hang their wet laundry up to dry in "your" room

and then get upset when you open the window

because you made their baby girl cold.

The People Who Make it Easy

The people who show love in the little things. 

A host in Germany cleared out an area for me to put my toothbrush in the downstairs bathroom. 

She wants me to feel at home. She made a space for me.

This seemingly superfluous gesture 

set the stage for a marvelous three weeks

of appreciation, consideration, communication. 

She knock, knock, knocked,

"can I come in?" 

whenever she wanted something out of my room in the loft,

and did everything possible to make me feel like the home belonged to "us",

And to not feel like a stranger

knocking about upstairs.  

 Why I do it Anyway

Because it makes me feel alive. 

This --

this

-- is the reason it really gets my goat

when I'm told to "just wait a few years."

That I'll settle down

"Because hey, 

EVERYBODY DOES."

I know the loneliness. I know the awkwardness. I know the challenges presented by a nomadic lifestyle. 

But I choose to move because when I'm in the flow,

this -- 

this

-- is how I feel.

Simplicity. Serendipity. Synchronicity.

So please don't tell me that I'll grow up and grow out and grow roots that grow down.

Have faith in me.

For this feeling is I've found is more than enough to carry me through a lifetime of not being touched, putting away the Camembert and having perpetual toilet drama.