time marches on

I don't think I'm coming back to Vermont. I have no faith in the system that would make it possible. I'm afraid that by leaving, I won't get it sorted out when things go wrong. I won't be here to figure anything else out. When the door closes behind me, I'll be gone.

All my life, I've moved every five to ten years. Moving from Syracuse wrecked me when I was eleven. Moving from New Jersey when I was sixteen ensured that I'd never recover. It didn't help that the place we moved to was Long Island. Each time I've moved, my frayed capacity for connection has further collapsed. I leave the past behind me, a one way road of scattered memories, of people, places, and things. Each time I've said good-bye, it has been forever.

It's amazing that even when I find somewhere that I like, I still have to leave after a few years. Moving always inspires a forced optimism. We never know what lies ahead. Maybe it will be great. Nowhere ever is. Great is what we can build where we are, and that takes more time than I've ever been allowed to stay anywhere.