On Being Nomadic

A good friend of mine recently asked me about the places I have lived. About the number. "How many?" she asked, and I had to slow my brain down and think about it, make a list.

The list is approaching 20. Twenty cities. 20 cities in 3 continents. Twenty cities in 4 countries.

If my math is right.

But math isn't the point, isn't the thing to grade. Life is being graded here.

I have no permanent home, no place to go "home" to, as evidenced by my trip back to the U.S. last spring; it took me seven plane flights to get around to see most of my family.

Most; not all. My family, like me (in a lesser way), have spread out.

They have spread yet have settled, while I continue to wander. Wander. Looking for what?

I'm not sure.

Today I rode a subway into Seoul to visit a dentist who speaks English and was educated in the U.S. I am very interested right now in the dramatic turn-around of the American policy towards North Korea . . .

But that is neither here nor there in my thoughts about wandering, about "home", about a place to belong to.

Maybe that is it. A place to belong to.

Hmmm . . . Lots to think about . . .