What is home

Packing up, again, except you can’t really even call it ‘packing.’ I am going through relics of my past collected in boxes in my mother’s attic. I have been crying a lot today, wishing I wasn’t here dealing with the fact that my life is more disappointment than victory and the fact that all I am can really be summed up as contributing to the 400-level carbon dioxide death ceiling that gives every one of us 25 years to life to live in this bubble of post-Pilocene wasteland of ignored warnings, idiotic leadership and evil running rampant with the rest of our time here on this gloriously beautiful, breathtaking and soul-sustaining place we call home, the earth.

Yet, I have no ‘home’ as is considered by any definition of my peers who have mortgages, are complaining about sending kids to college and mowing their lawns, using round-up on their weeds. Oh, to have their problems. I have very little, certainly no real estate, certainly no ‘family’ other than my parents, who adopted me. I am truly, on my best days, a free agent, on days like today, having major existential doubt.

It’s raining, the trees are blowing, I must get back to sorting thru the bullshit of my past.


    1. Lara Trace (I call you Trace in my mind, for some reason!) . – you are such a special part of my life, so honored by me, so humbling — you are one of the finest human beings (or as they said in “little big man,” human beans…) I have ever encountered. The fact that I have never met you but feel I have known you for many lifetimes sometimes unsettles me — as I am an adopted, wandering refugee of some unknown tribe and I admired (and felt helpless to be useful) your history, your family, your resilience, your tribe — your acceptance of me will remain one of the highest honors of my life. You are a top notch human and I am honored to have made your virtual writing acquaintance—hope to meet you in the next few years if I get that airstream and go across countrY!

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