No longer shall I be a Gypsy

At least not until the end of January, when I shall pack up my worldly belongings yet again and move onwards.. west. Today August 31st is the first time I have had my own room in the past 3 months. The past 3 months living out of a suitcase have been swell and all, but my back was beginning to hurt from all the bending over and the wrinkled clothes really weren't making an impression at work.
Oh who am I kidding, I don't iron.
In all seriousness, it feels great to finally be able to exhale thinking I don't have to move for another 5 months. I don't have to buy anything, other than hangars (I've probably accumulated over 500 hangars in the past 2 years) and sheets- again have about 5 sets all over the world. But they're just things, material things.
To be honest I've been thinking about things lately, how we become so tied to things, how things determine our worth, our status, even small things we place so much value to them that if they happen to go missing, our lives shatter before our very eyes. We suddenly get a depressed feeling of worthlessness a feeling of loss, and a yearning for the good old days when all the things we owned were perfectly placed in our undisturbed lives.
Maybe its just me, but I think part of my chronic nomadism as I've come to call my travelling condition, comes from my complete contradictory love of acquiring things, accumulating small treasures from all corners of the world, and then leaving them behind, tucked away is a safe box, beautiful things like a flamenco poster bought on the street of Madrid ( over two years ago) which I have yet to hang once on a wall. Granted I haven't owned or even rented a wall for more than a year over the past couple of years, but I'm starting to thing all things aren't meant to be stored and kept away, some materials in our life remind us of where we've been and calm us in our path for what's to come. I find that without those reminders of my journey, I feel a new journey begin to form within me, and the familiar restless feeling of packing up and moving on becomes ever too close to home. So for now, I will enjoy my tiny little room in my tiny little flat, and make the most of a time which I shall call tranquil time. For now.

It's funny where the path can take you

When you keep your head down. I've gone from a year in London, to 9 months (what seemed like 9 yrs) in Abu Dhabi to a current 2 months in London about to be 5 more, then finally making it back home or as close to home as I will get in the US- California.
That's the plan as it stands today, the purpose and the goal of my next step and my next move, is something that I hold so near and dear to my heart, that it's hard to sit back and wait, willing it to come back to me as strong as it once was.
I feel that at times I've held myself back in my own fear of letting go of the world I have known for the past 4 years. But what I fail to remind myself of, is that the first 21 years before that, one thing and one thing alone moved me to act. My passion. Passion for art, theater, film, music, talent, inspiration, passion for life, and love and not to sound cheesy ( as if that hasn't already happened) passion for myself. That passion which had me daring and blaring into every corner of the world literally exploring the boundaries of my capabilities and pushing myself to be the person I had always envisioned... that is what I'm looking for once more, what I think we all tend to lose somewhere along the way, and as we grow spurts come back to us now and again. But I remember when spurts formed it all and the passion was present at all times. I want that back, and am ready to get myself back to that place of inspiration and ambition. All it takes is that first step out into the unknown.