The World in Which I Live

It’s early Sunday morning in Arizona. I haven’t written in a week. Coming home after only four days away was the opposite of inspiring. I should have stayed away longer.

I came home to a house filled with unwanted noise, a sky filled with smoky air, forcing on me yet another reason to not leave my house, and an insane increase of cases of Covid-19 in my city and state.

Home does not feel like a safe to be. Maybe that’s a truth in me under any circumstances, but now that trap seems even more tightly set. Giving rise to an even larger than usual need to escape. But, where to, I wonder?

Is there anywhere on the planet right now that is safe? Is there a place where people are co-existing in harmony where people aren’t divided by race, creed, religion, gender? Is there a place where the air is safe to breathe and human touch is not rife with peril?

I find myself growing angrier and more apt to sudden tears. I am scared and angry and feel myself mired down in my own weight. I know I need to get back to the mind space I was in in Taos. Feeling free, creative, and inspired.

I keep thinking about a better way for me to live. Maybe I am meant to be more free than I’ve set myself up to be. Less constrained by home ownership, less confined by a single space. I know I feel a sense of joy when I am heading to a new place. I know that I am more of a nomad or a gypsy than I have let myself be for the past 5 years. I know the itch to be somewhere new is real and not imagined in me.

Maybe there is no one safe place for me. Maybe, just maybe, what I need is more places than I can imagine.