There’s a kind of limbo I’ve been carrying. Not dramatic, not heavy—just persistent. It’s the space between familiarity and detachment, between belonging and moving on. It settles in quietly, like fog, and I often don’t notice it until I pause long enough to feel it.
As a nomad, you get used to packing light, not just with things but with attachments. You learn to let places go before they ask you to. You say goodbye so often that arrival and departure start to feel like the same act—just viewed from different ends of time.
And yet, in the quiet moments, there’s a subtle disorientation. I know how to navigate cities I no longer live in better than the ones I’m in. My memories feel more like postcards than personal history. Even the word home feels too fixed for what I’ve lived.
This limbo isn’t about being lost—it’s about being suspended. Not stuck, just untethered. And maybe there’s freedom in that. Or maybe there’s something else I haven’t named yet.
May2025
Personally, I couldn’t settle down if I wasn’t around things I loved. All my books, my cat, the city, and some family, ground me (few people). But my home has to be filled with the things that inspire me and interest me, or I would be miserable. I need to make art and have things at my fingertips when the urge hits me. When I’m someplace else, I am outside looking in at a different way of life, a different place, different people a place where I really am an outsider. It’s fun and I enjoy it but I also look for tiny things to bring back to my nest. Home base is like a battery charge. I don’t travel anymore but sometimes being a nomad must be like being a kite, that got away. Never attached to anything, so no one knows you, and everything is transitory. No possessions can be a good thing, as well as traveling light, but sometimes it’s nice to have a library with beautiful books that feel like home and a cat that sleeps next to you. LOL Different strokes. Be happy and if you need a life change, make one, you can always go back to being unattached. I’m sure you’ve made friends all over the world, which is very exciting. But you can’t invite them to stay with you at your place, right? That’s fun too. It can be fun to see people in my environment. 🙂 Where they are the outsider. Choices. I love that one can always change one’s mind. Nothing is written in stone. I think this post is terrific. Thank you. Hope you find what you’re looking for…or it finds you.
Thank you so much for this comment. I loved reading it—it sounds like it comes from someone who knows what it means to build a life with intention. I completely understand the need to have your books, your cat, your art supplies—all those pieces of yourself that make a space truly yours.
I’ve often felt the kite feeling you mentioned—drifting, curious, unattached—And you’re right: it’s not just about things, it can be about being known in a place, having roots, and the joy of inviting others into your world for a change.
“Nothing is written in stone” is a comfort. We can shift course, change our rhythm, reclaim something we set aside—or discover something we never expected to want. I truly appreciate you sharing your perspective. Wishing you continued inspiration, good books, and the warm company of your cat. 🐾📚💛
Strangely I understand and know what you mean.
It’s comforting to know that some things don’t need much explanation to be understood. Glad it resonated with you.