Displacement

I always had a suitcase hanging from my hands. I was never safe. I was never sure about anything. Could I start a new project, a new anything? No, there was no time. I was leaving town. I had to fly. I would not be around to finish it. In that other place, the next place-wherever that would be. There, that promised land, I would start to live and do things there. I would be able to be myself there because it was going to be the home I had always searched for. My real home. A place where I would have the warmth and protection I had always wanted.
It was quite obvious that to be displaced had given me an up-in-the-air feeling. I kept myself walking on that tightrope for a long time. There was nothing else I could do except say good-bye over and over again. There was nothing I could do except cry on the inside and smile on the outside while I did it. There was nothing else except cheer up the one or two people I would be leaving behind.
Should I accept this, accept that, accept this other thing, I would ask myself. Which is the right one, the right way? Which is the one I want? Where is it that I belong? Not in my own backyard-not anymore. Not in my lifetime.