The problem with leaving home, breaking out, traveling slow is that you can’t go back. Not in the same way, at least. You can move your geographical location anywhere on the planet, including your starting point, but you will never be in that place again. It’s different. And now pieces of the heart, mind and soul beg to once again eat a plate of spicy spaghetti in the piazza, or take a walk with a friend by the lighthouse, or meet up for beers in the pub, on the beach or in the backyard. Missing friends, family and the easiness of another life can drive a person crazy. So how can we go anywhere?

We’ve been talking about California. I’ve been daydreaming about California the way I used to daydream about Italy. The lush desire for possibility is what pulls us in one direction or another, constantly back and forth. My heart is in Italy. My heart is in California. Both sides of a wall and I’m torn. Because I cannot choose one home over another. There is no clear answer because it’s all shades of gray. It does not even really matter which side I’m on, because there will always be another side that I loved, and someone else I love to miss. I’m always saying goodbye. With one foot out of the door, I’d really like to pull my leg back in, sit down and stay awhile. But on which side should we stay? Pieces are everywhere and it isn’t clear which are most vital.

I left home but that doesn’t mean it ceased existing. Instead it split and divided and I made more homes, fell in love with people and places around the world and still left bits behind. I am not the me I was when I left; that me will never go back. So I scatter parts and love blindly and eat sublimely and the price I pay is paid in changing currencies. We don’t ever stay where we’re put. Ever. The most difficult thing about leaving home is depositing your pieces elsewhere (and with all the world’s men) knowing that we’ll never stay all together again.