If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
There was a dean in my department at the school where I work. She was there when I started, but after a couple of months, she quit…and moved to Indonesia. She’s not Indonesian. She had never been to Indonesia. But she moved there. The legacy she left behind is that she got tired of her job, she had the money from some kind of settlement with her ex-husband, and so she quit and moved to a beautiful tropical location on the other side of the world. We were all so jealous.
An online knitting friend of mine, that I actually met in person, she recently moved to Portugal. She was living in Vermont. Apparently the anti-Semitic actions of her community increased in frequency and hatred. As a devout Jewish person (she says it’s fine to call her a Jew, but it sounds so wrong somehow), she didn’t feel comfortable there anymore. So she moved to Portugal. The pictures of her new house on the water look amazing! Again, I’m jealous.
I so badly want to pack up and move to a random place far away from where I live now. Somewhere I have never been. Somewhere that means nothing to me other than it has a cool name, or there’s a pretty view, or good weather, or…whatever. The thing is, I don’t know what that place is. Or where it is for that matter. Maybe it’s smack dab in the middle of the United States. Maybe it’s in Canada. Or Europe. Not Australia. They have those giant huntsman spiders that apparently like to come inside your house and try to co-habitate with you. I’m not into that. Neither is my arachnophobia.
Of course, I can only do this, if God forbid, something happened to my husband and I found myself alone. Where we live is where he grew up. This is his home. I don’t have a place that I consider my home. I don’t even really know how to answer the question about where I’m from. I don’t feel like I have a place that I’m from. My husband does. He’s from here. And as long as he’s alive, we’ll both be from here. That’s o.k. Given enough time, maybe I won’t mind it so much. I mean, our house is fine. That’s not the issue. I just don’t like living in this city where I keep running into people that I know from my past life. I don’t like running into people period actually. I’m not one for small talk in a grocery store. Yet, it happens too frequently for my liking. Except for one co-worker of mine. We are up to 4 times that we have run into each other at the same grocery store. We have a tendency to either go after we get off work at 5:00 or when we’re on our lunch break. I kind of want to see how high we can get that number.
I honestly don’t know where I would live if given the choice. So many things to think about when making a decision like that. All I do know, is that if my husband does go first, and I up and leave and move somewhere random, I’m not telling anyone where I live. Maybe I’ll tell my sisters what state I moved to. But for a while, I’m going to revel in the idea that nobody knows where I am. Nobody can find me. After a while, that might get lonely. And I certainly don’t want to spontaneously die in my home and because I didn’t tell anybody where I live nobody comes to check on me…but I do like the idea of controlling who has access to me. I’ve given so much of myself for so long, it seems only appropriate to keep myself locked up and away if given the chance.
Hey, and without the distractions of people I know, maybe I’ll actually finish my book…
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