a mobile home

As I pack my bags once again to head "home", I use the word loosely, checking my email constantly for a distraction from the reality that I'm on the move once again and wondering to myself how on earth I've accumulated so much STUFF. In my search for distraction I came across the song above. Patrick Watson's voice is haunting and with a string ensemble it can only sweep me away into retrospective thought. This morning and some of last night I spent time relaxing, reviewing and cropping my most recent batch of photos from Egypt, (they are on the way I promise), but then I think back to my time spent here in the holy land and now my return to the states only to move again in 9 to 10 months for Peace Corps. My life leaves no room for a permanent physical home and perhaps my home can only exist in my mind. A mobile home furnished with warm thoughts of holidays with family, long conversations with friends new and old over wine, little local cafes which provide my lifeblood, and countless inflatable mattresses, convertible beds, hostels and couches...and all along the way I buy souvenirs to furnish and decorate my future physical home that I will one day sink my roots into or maybe I won't. But the dream is the carrot on the stick that keeps me from longing for something that I don't have, the dreams my mother always told me to follow. And a father who cautiously supports it all as long as I have health insurance. The dream to be a citizen of the world, make a difference, leave my mark, use my talents, defend the weak and feel at home with humanity. Ahhh the dream. The dream that leaves no familiar pillow.

But I digress, I told you this song was powerful. Enough procrastination, these bags don't seem to be packing themselves. But watch out because if you have any kind of wandering mind and a soft spot for string instruments you might be swept away as well.

Shukran and Salaam