I’m sitting here on a beautiful saturday morning in paradise, specifically Pompono Beach, Florida. It’s a little rainy as I sit under a tiki hut next to the pool in a lush tropical paradise known as my brothers back yard.
I was up early this morning, a little before seven. Got a cup of coffee, and came out to get some writing done. Know what I didn’t do? Write. Anything.
Instead I sat here pondering life, the universe, and everything, enjoying a cup of coffee, facebooking with some friends, and generally being introspective. I’ve wanted to live in Florida my whole life. For the first time in my life, I’m in a sort-of position to do it, and I’m not sure I could make myself. The things I would leave behind are too much. Is this what people mean by putting down roots? If so, I hate it.
I think I’m part gypsy. I was made to roam, moving regularly, my possessions on my back. I feel stagnant when I do any one thing for too long, and I’ve felt stagnant in my life for a while now. Some roots are strong though, and the one that binds me to Pennsylvania might be the one I just can’t cut.
Time will tell. Patience is something I have SO much of in many aspects of my life, and so little of in others.