At present moment I am for the first time without a set of keys to a place that I can call my own. I am homeless in public terms and sense, and though I have many places where I know that I am welcome, it feels a bit strange.
Leaving London was very emotional and I departed with sadness, well knowing that we will be reunited in two months time. Being in Denmark is very familiar and nice and looking forward to going to Berlin is bliss.
I left my apartment in slight melancholy; it was like closing one chapter without really opening a new one. Transition always changes the state of mind, whether god or bad. But maybe this was more significant as I am still not in possession of a place to come back to.
Being a nomad comes with ups and downs.
The great gift of it is the opportunity to meet and befriend many amazing people and learn that it is possible to find a home somewhere else besides your “heimat”
I have a love/hate relationship with moving. I really hate the practical hassle of it. On the other hand I love the new possibilities it creates.
It is really true when they say, “home is where the heart is.”
I feel quite fortunate to be able to have tree places, which I consider my home. Where my heart is rooted in something, where I have friends and family and I find myself at ease because I know my place in that place.
So yes I am homeless in a sense but not in another.