One of the disadvantages of moving around is not really having a place for all your stuff. Yes, you can organize things and put them in order, but each item doesn't really have its home. Here I am preparing my cargo box and gear to load up for the trip down south and then to Colorado.
I never thought I'd stay this long in such a tiny town with a mostly foreign speaking population, but the staff is great and the C-section opportunities are plentiful enough, and the drive is superb, the traffic is virtually non-existent, and I can run and bike all I want. But the stent is over and now on to other pastures. Not that I won't miss it, on the contrary, I will, but now it's time for something else.
I was looking at all my gear as I readied the box, and planned out the essentials for the last two days here, I thought to myself as I prepared to be on the road, that it will be awhile until I can plant a flower garden or a vegetable garden, or be able to rack up my bike or the Yakima, put my lights up without having to take them down and plant my tripod someplace permanent. I'm not sure where the sense of permanence comes from, and I'm not sure if it's merely a way of expanding my selfishness or need for possessions. I think of Abraham and his family, without any home per se, except the tent they had. But the sense of belonging is something innate in us, even if it's not something tangible, it is some king of emotional sense. What supplies this? My initial reaction is loyalty, trustworthiness, dependability. All that with only an initial reaction, and not much introspection. How it builds security, I am not sure just yet, maybe for another post.
But the next two days will go by fast, as I wrap up my charts, and get the final paperwork together for my next assignment, and find a place to hand my hat, and rack my bike.
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