I have always struggled to answer the question: “Where are you from?”
These days, I have found a new doozie.
When people ask what I do, I tell them I moved out of my apartment a few weeks ago.
“Where to?” They inquire.
“Oh, I moved to being homeless,” I like to quip.
I do have consistent shelter, unlike thousands of people around the world, but in the last few weeks I have transitioned to a nomadic season that will stretch through the fall. If I stitch together a full week in one bed, I feel proud. I keep running the same limited wardrobe on repeat. I am learning what I can live without, and what I will hunt down across a dozen stores in two states.
Dozens of hours on the road. Hotel rooms. Couches. Spare bedrooms. Spare beds. New faces. A few old friends.
Mostly it is a lot of hours in between. Waiting to be let in to the house where I am staying. Waiting for my laundry to dry. Waiting for the highway to run out so I can pull off and be done for the day.
I mostly miss the familiar. I miss an apartment that is mine, where people walk in and I am expected. I miss my books being on the shelf and my dishes being in the cupboard. I miss having access to my full wardrobe, and I miss my routines.
I stayed with a friend, and I was surprised where my feelings of jealousy crept in the most when comparison whispered in my ear. It was the caddy in her bathroom full of bottles she does not have to shove into a suitcase at the end of the day. Sitting there, so big, so full, with so much variety, just like mine sat in my bathroom just a few weeks ago, right until the moment I dumped them in a trash bag, replacing them with just a few essentials I must have to get through the day.
I expected to learn a lot on this adventure, but I did not anticipate learning how petty I am, especially not so early on in the journey. I have always had a bed, and most times it has come with a meal, conversation and countless other blessings. I shove my suitcase full of clothes that I can wash once a week in electric washers and dryers I did not even pay for, and I have no fear of them wearing out because they are in such good condition.
I record my moments on the road with a camera-phone that rivals any digital camera my family owned before I was in high school. I drive around in a borrowed car, and I every morning I pull my perfect tiny bottles out and remember that I have more than enough.