At Home Where There Are No Houses?

Apparently its that time of year again where things are opening and closing in all directions. So strange that winter has passed, yet the freak snowstorms seem to continue biting me in the ass. Even stranger that I graduated from college eleven months ago. I'll be in Portland almost one year to the date. The time of year where I get restless and reckless and overdramatic, rather habitually.

Currently wrapped in housing drama, as per usual. I am totally torn philosophically, at this point over even finding my next place or not. Paul put the seed well I should say watered the seed already in my own head of just saying fuck it and committing to full time vagabondery for the summer. I'm frustrated with the process of selling myself to potential home-mates, don't like the place I'm seeing, and can't afford the places I covet. Between May 1 and July 1 I only anticipate sleeping in town for about 14 days, as opposed to the usual 15 nights per month.

I am intrigued and repulsed simaltaneously by the idea of elective homelessness. I'm intrigued by the adventure of it, physically. I often feel loss and let down after coming home from the field and moving indoors. I feel that emotionally more than physically I think, way less grounded, motivated, and purposeful. I have this fantasy about the adventure of it, waking up in my tent someplace beautiful, being forced into all the ideal parts about work without the stress of it. Reading and writing and doing art and being free and rooted all at the same time. The reality I'm sure is far from it. I'm attracted to saving money, $40 a month for storage versus $400 something for rent. I have this theory that not having a room to come home to might encourage me to expand and engage my support systems, and to seek out the people/places/things/attitudes I want as part of my life. Towards my own greater good. I'm attracted to simplifying, at least for a little while, and living out more of my wanderlust instincts.

I'm not sure yet how much of this freaking me out is new and wise terror, and how much is my usual fear of the unknown and new trying to strangle those outer impulses. I know I am very attached to having my own space, some niche somewhere that is mine to return to. I know this helps keep me grounded and relaxed. I know that depending on other people makes me uncomfortable, and that I put a lot of stock in being in control. I know that my brief stint homeless in the fall stressed me out a lot. I know that most of my off shift life lately revolves around baking, napping, watching too much tv, hiding, doing too much internet, and other such associated vegging out. These are all things that would be challenging without a home base.

The part I can't place in a particular column is how different I am since October. I'm scared of doing all of this and committing to the gypsy life because couch surfing in October was really hard for me. I'm grateful for the lessons I learned and the people I met, particularly the ones about trusting that the universe is well intentioned and puts me where I am meant to end up. The thing is, I am so much more grounded than I was in October. I know people in town now that I can fall back on, instead of trusting in the goodness of strangers. Work is so much less overwhelming than it was in the beginning. I wanted to write less crazy, not the case. I just handle the crazy better. The weather even would be more easy going. I'm scared though, because even so I don't know if I can do it, emotionally and spiritually...