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I find myself homesick for Berkeley. The feeling is followed quickly by doubt and judgment. Doubt that I would actually miss living far from loved ones and in a place where so much stress and anxiety took place. Judgment that I didn’t/don’t appreciate what I have until I don’t anymore.

In my own defense, it is not entirely true that I failed to appreciate and enjoy Berkeley while I lived within its’ city limits. I loved and appreciated the mild and wonderful weather, sun, warmth, the year-round greenery and blooming plants and trees. I enjoyed and appreciated the diversity of race and culture that were plentiful in the East Bay and outlying areas. All of this appreciation while I lived there.

What is true, however, is that I never felt at home during my Berkeley stint. The same is true in my current life. I feel as if I am waiting. Waiting to discover, to wake up to, to unearth what will come next. Where I will live, where I will work, where I will be whole. And I am not sure, am never sure that this is it ~ right here, right now ~ where I am at any given moment, month or year. I lived in the Berkeley Attic for five years; longer than I have lived anywhere in my adulthood. And yet the Attic felt like a transient abode. Never truly a home.

In fact, I wrote on my public blog and in my private journal of my life long active search for a home, where all the while I was living in my temporary home. See. Even here I label the Attic as temporary. I knew I would move and since the move was a given, I could somehow never accept it as my home.

I am now living in or occupying a 1970’s ranch style duplex rental while sometimes pining away for my former abode. While still yearning for my home that I will recognize as my home. Is this particular longing connected to my adoptee status? An attachment malfunction in babyhood? I do not know. Not today at least.

Today, I am simply sitting at my birch long table desk at the end of a long work day. Happy to be in the little place I will call home for the night.

September 2011
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