Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Confessions of a Nomadic Urban Professional

This is the barn which has held my worldly possessions for the last 9 months while I was reborn in Florida. Notable possessions include:

1 Sesame Street Lamp circa 1977
1 typewriter
1 felt hat found in Golden Gate Park perfect for mushroom hunting
1 copy of Pulp Fiction
1 cast iron skillet
12 boxes of books and notes

Now it's time to get slapped on the back and start crawling up the linea nigra of asphalt back to the land of milk and honey.

I'm lucky because my work is non-local, sort of like the new physics but without the implicit order. I will merely have to suspend sending zeroes and ones through the air for a week until I can plug my computer into some temporary docking station on the west coast.

With a little more luck, tho, I will be coming home to my own digs with my beautiful and patient lady, who is the midwife to this whole re-entry plan.

I am not very good at being a nomadic urban professional tho because I am longing for roots. It worked well when I was 23 and an archaeologist, rambling all over the southwest, digging up historic whiskey bottles and whatnot. Mornings like the time I woke up in a wildflower meadow in Larkspur, Colorado while visiting other nomadic and piratical friends at the RenFaire.

That was 1999 and now my back hurts when I sleep on the ground; so it goes.

I actually have less possessions than ever before, aside from the books. But the books are now a "library" and they are a mean feat to move around. My archivist nature and my wandering soul collide here, and the archivist wins. (With concessions anyways: the barn was not humidity controlled in the slightest. And spiders currently live in the filing cabinet.)

So I am heading west again with the intention to belong, to come home, to be where I am, to mingle with the oak savanna and the hard clay loam and the wild turkeys and the big laughing Jims and the coyotebrush fusing with the ocean breeze and the intense fluctuations of geomagnetic activity and the traffic and the fog and everything else that makes Northern California the magical place that it is.

Sunday, May 04, 2008

Fresh Air

I felt it two days ago for the first time: the stirring breeze, the call for movement, that first hint of summer solstice calling me forward.

Historically, I freak right out every summer. In fact, every job I've ever quit, I've quit in the months of June, July or August. It's an itch that I have to try real hard not to scratch. Ever since I noticed the pattern, I decided to stop fighting it and instead try to find ways to build this semi-nomadic wanderlust into my lifestyle.

Luckily this year the roadtrip is built-in. I have only three more weeks in the South, and then I'm heading back West to rejoin my fiance. It seems so far away but I know it's gonna happen fast.

California is not done with me yet.